Darkest Day, Blackest Knight
by BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: Merlin's life is just one disaster after another. He should have known that getting kidnapped by bandits would be just his luck. No Slash, no pairings. Post Season 2. Under Edit.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin dashed around the corners dodging other servants and guards, eliciting many shouts of annoyance. He knew that he was late, one of the hazards of trying to finish all his chores the previous evening as well as attempting a half-decent night's sleep. Still, he had managed to get everything done and he was well rested; he just hoped that the Prince wouldn't mind too much.

When he arrived at the Prince's chambers he was graced with the sight of Arthur sat on the end of his bed, fully clothed, tapping his foot impatiently. The warlock gulped.

"So. Merlin. Care to explain where you've been?" Arthur didn't actually sound very angry. He sounded like he was going to use this as an excuse to have fun torturing his servant; Merlin didn't feel reassured.

"I overslept," he replied instantly, grabbing the clothes that the Prince had managed to scatter across the floor.

"You overslept? Tired are we?" Arthur was smiling, a glint in his eyes. He looked... mischievous.

"I'm sorry Sire," he said, keeping his back to Arthur to hide the grimace.

"Oh, not at all Merlin. Take your time, by all means," the Prince told him cheerfully. Merlin gulped; this was going to be bad. "I have a meeting with my father, then I want to train for a while. Lance and Hoops."* The warlock was proud of the way he didn't flinch when that order was given out. Arthur _knew _how much Merlin hated it when they practiced jousting and he was using it to his advantage. It wasn't like the dark haired man could say no.

"Of course," the warlock murmured, trying not to look apprehensive. The prince just grinned and strolled out of the room looking as though all was right with the world. "Prat," Merlin added softly to himself, turning back to finish his chores.

* * *

><p>By the time Arthur was finished with his own personal torture, Merlin's back was drenched in sweat and his hands trembled a little from the prolonged stress. But the Prince was grinning happily and clapping the warlock on the shoulder for a job well done.<p>

"Maybe you're not completely useless Merlin," he said with a smile and it amused the warlock that to Arthur that was a genuine complement. He just grinned back, taking the lance that was handed to him without comment and securing it on its rack before returning to help Arthur remove his armour.

Once that was done the Prince washed his hands from a bowl of water, splashing away the sweat that had dried on his face and neck, relishing in the cool relief. Merlin buzzed around him quietly, sorting out his armour, putting a drink on the table beside him, making sure all his weapons were in the correct places. The poor boy must have been just as exhausted as Arthur but he didn't complain. The Prince found the beginnings of respect filling him.

His musing was broken by Leon's voice, torn with panic. Arthur's head snapped up to look at him, taking in his first in command's wide eyes and the way he was hurrying towards them as though there were hounds on his heels.

"Sire!" He shouted again when he was closer. He was breathing heavily as though he had sprinted the whole way here. "Your presence is required in the throne room, urgently! Sir Felmar's patrol has returned but they encountered bandits in the forest." Leon's voice dropped slightly in grief and the knight seemed to grow smaller. "Three of them have not returned."

Arthur felt something inside him shift, the beginnings of grief clawing its way through his walls and settling on his heart. He had given the order for those men to be sent out, and now he would have to tell their families that their son or their husband or their father would not be coming back. His eyes closed for a moment, controlling his emotions and sealing them away to be dealt with later; they would be of no use now.

"How many wounded?" Arthur demanded as he began to stride in the direction of the castle, Merlin and Leon following in his wake. Another servant jumped in to fulfil the chores that the warlock had just abandoned and he sent him a quick smile of gratitude.

"Sir Felmar is unhurt, though tired. Sir Bannor has a broken arm and the remaining four are all gravely injured." Leon reported dutifully.

"Who did we lose?" The Prince was a little proud of how strong he made his voice sound, even though he felt his heart drop to his boots at the thought of fallen comrades.

"Sirs Bohr, Randfell and Gurwen." That explained some of the overpowering grief in the knight's voice; Sir Randfell was his uncle. Arthur stopped in his tracks to look at him.

"I'm sorry Leon. He was a good man." He put a hand on the taller man's shoulder.

"They were all good men Sire," he corrected softly. "Camelot has suffered a great loss."

Merlin already had a lot of respect for the tall knight, and he liked him (he had a wicked sense of humour that the warlock appreciated as well as the fact that he was dedicated to the Prince's safety – which automatically made him Merlin's ally), but listening to the short exchange he found his respect growing. In that simple sentence he had proven just how much he would give for the city he loved and the warlock was touched at the devotion he could hear there.

Just before entering the throne room Arthur turned to Merlin abruptly.

"There's nothing for you to do here. Go and help Gaius and then report back on the knights' conditions." Merlin nodded without a word and dashed off as quickly as he could.

* * *

><p>"Gaius?" He asked as he pushed open the door. The room inside was a mess and Merlin took a moment to absorb the sight.<p>

To the left, close to the door, lay Sir Baldwin on an improvised cot with white bandages that were rapidly staining red crossing his chest and his face a tangle of dried blood and bruises. He didn't look conscious. Across the room propped up in a chair sat a conscious Sir Osric, who looked like he desperately wanted to join his comrade in blissful oblivion. His face was twisted into a horrible mask of pain and he was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, both hands clawing towards his leg that was twisted at an unnatural angle. Just below his ribcage Merlin could see blood leaking from a deep gash. Sir Bannor was off to the right, cradling his broken arm in silence. His dark eyes were fixed on the white sheets in the corner that the warlock knew were concealing the remaining knights. Two more warriors that Arthur had lost; he was going to take this hard.

The physician was stood at his workbench, pounding some herds furiously with a mortar and pestle, his weathered face creased in concern.

"Gaius?" The warlock asked again, coming closer. "What do you need?" The old man looked up and shot a grateful smile at his ward. He nodded towards a small vial filled with an unappealing grey liquid.

"Give that to Sir Bannor. It will help with the pain.

For the next half hour the warlock dashed around the room, doing everything that Gaius asked of him: re-bandaging wounds, helping to calm down Sir Osric when his leg was reset, fetching more water and mixing potions. The work was slowing down though as the three patients fell into drug induced sleeps.

"Arthur will need you Merlin. I imagine they'll be riding out soon." Gaius looked at his ward and saw the exhaustion fighting with his determination. He felt pride flood his stomach along with a healthy dose of fear. "Take care of yourself my boy."

"I will Gaius," Merlin told him seriously before dashing out the door, ignoring the aching in his legs.

* * *

><p>When Merlin reached the throne room it was to see Sir Felmar, tired and dusty sat in a seat trying to respond to Arthur's questioning. The Prince looked like a coiled snake, stressed and worried, but he as he paced back and forwards you could see the way he was thinking through plans and tactics.<p>

"And you have no idea what they wanted? Did they take anything?" Felmar shook his head.

"No Sire. When we retreated they left the bodies in peace. From what we could see they didn't even search them."

'_Now that doesn't make sense,' _Merlin thought to himself. If they were bandits they would have looted the corpses of anything of value, including their armour and weapons. Something about this whole scenario was wrong.

"What would you estimate the size of their force to be?"

"In the clearing there were at least twenty five men, with more in the trees shooting arrows. But there could easily have been a back up force Sire. I would say at minimum there were forty of them." Arthur's heart sank. Forty bandits did not join together randomly: they wanted something.

"Did you see any sign of a commander, or anything to imply order?"

"I didn't see any one that was instructing them, but they worked as an organised force. The attacks were in timed waves to wear us out and they could fight as a unit. The ambush was... effective." The knight sounded grudgingly impressed by the skill with which their attackers had lured them into a trap.

Arthur's brow was furrowed with thought as he formed a basic plan of attack. Depending on the numbers of men he had and the density of the forest the details would have to be altered but it was something. He caught sight of Merlin standing off to one side.

"Thank you Sir Felmar. You have done well. Go to Gaius and get some rest." The knight stood and bowed slightly, wincing as his aching muscles complained.

"Yes Sire."

"Merlin, how are they?" Arthur demanded as soon as Felmar was gone.

"Sir Bannor will be fine – Gaius was able to set his arm without too much difficulty. Sir Osric had a broken leg that should also heal with deformity but he has a gash below his ribs that shows sign of infection. If his fever breaks soon, he should be alight. Sir Baldwin has several wounds on his chest and has shown no signs of waking since he arrived." The warlock grimaced. "His future is... uncertain." Merlin fell silent, but it was obvious that Arthur was expecting more.

"And the others? What of Sir Liam and Sir Eldwan?" Merlin felt something of relief at finally being able to put names to the poor lost souls in Gaius's quarters. Unable to speak, the warlock just shook his head. Arthur cursed colourfully, genuine grief tearing across his face for a moment before he could hide it. Merlin knew that Sir Liam had been like a brother to the lonely Prince. "Have my armour ready in my chambers, and alert the stable hands to tack up the horses. Then have Leon gather the knights in the courtyard ready to ride out in an hour."

"Sire," he murmured, ducking his head and dashing off again. On his way to the stables he encountered Sir Leon and passed on the message.

He didn't reach Arthur's chambers for another ten minutes. The Prince was pacing there, waiting for him but he said nothing about it, allowing Merlin to strap him into his armour without comment.

"Are you coming with us?" He asked after a moment. The warlock blinked up at him in surprise; he had never been given a choice in the matter before.

"Of course," he replied, aware that he sounded a little affronted.

"This isn't a patrol Merlin. We're going in with the intention of fighting. Not exactly your forte," Arthur ribbed slightly, smiling. Merlin purposely yanked on the strap he was fastening and the plate tightened around the Prince's ribs briefly, eliciting a hiss. Arthur glared at him but the warlock didn't apologise.

"I rode out against a _dragon._" Merlin just reminded him after a moment, keeping his eyes on his fingers. He wasn't trying to brag about what he'd done but he felt belittled at the idea that Arthur would doubt him now. The Prince nodded slowly, watching his servant with interest but the warlock continued to avoid his eyes.

"Alright then. Let's go hunt some bandits."

* * *

><p>It took them almost an hour to reach the section of the woods that Sir Felmar had described. Merlin had been steadily growing more uneasy the closer they came, but now his panic was shifting into overdrive. The forest was entirely silent, save for the noises made by their own horses and the quiet whisper of orders that Arthur gave out.<p>

"Arthur..." He murmured as he thought he saw a shadow shift. The Prince glanced over to him, taking in the wary way he was scanning the undergrowth and instantly feeling his own guards rising. "Something is wrong."

"There are bandits in this area _Mer_lin, of course something is wrong." He joked to lighten the tension, even as he reached out with his senses, listening intently for any movement. The knights on patrol had been caught completely off guard, and the Prince was determined that it wouldn't happen again."Spread out," he ordered his men, keeping his voice low. If there were enemies in the vicinity, he didn't want to give them time to prepare even though a voice in the back of his mind told him that they were already being watched. Merlin, as usual, completely disregarded the order and stayed close to Arthur's side; the Prince was actually a little glad of his presence.

"Arthur, look," Merlin's voice was low as he pointed towards a clearing that was emerging from the trees. In the middle of the open space lay three corpses, sprawled in the dirt with their limbs twisted out around them, their distinctive red of their cloaks identification enough.

The prince dismounted almost silently, and very carefully began to walk out into the open beyond the tree line. After taking three long strides he stopped, his muscles tense, searching for any sign that bandits were about to launch an assault. When he heard nothing except for the pounding of blood in his veins, he took another few steps forward. Merlin watched him from the relative safety of the trees, all the while reaching out with his magic to try and work out if this was safe.

Arthur had to take a moment to control his emotions when he saw the lifeless eyes of his comrades staring blankly at the sky. He hadn't known these three knights all that well, but he still felt a great well of compassion for the families of these men, especially Leon. Crouching down, he very gently closed their eyes, moving to each body in turn and whispering a murmured prayer. When he reached Sir Randfell he felt compelled to mumble:

"I'll look after Leon. I swear to you."

He was so deep in grief scattered thought that when his servant shouted his name, terror obvious in his tone, Arthur couldn't quite comprehend what was going on. Confused, he spun on his heels as he rose to his feet, searching for his manservant in the shadows but finding no one. For half a second he stared at the empty space with panic filtering into his mind and then an all too familiar whooshing noise filled his ears and pain exploded in his shoulder and all down his left arm. He dropped to his knees with a strangled cry, wincing when the movement jolted the crossbow bolt that was lodged deep within the muscle just above his heart.

As soon as he hit the floor, men burst from every edge of the clearing, converging around him. The pain had made Arthur's vision blur and grey rather dramatically and so he was unable to take in any of the faces surrounding him, though his military mind automatically noted that they were all armed. They weren't wearing cloaks – from what he could tell – and therefore were not knights; who else was in the forest today apart from the bandits?

'_This can't be good,' _he thought briefly, feeling the weight of his upper body pulling him down towards the ground and the soft embrace of sleep. His vision filtered out entirely and he didn't feel it when he hit the floor. He was still aware enough for one final thought to cross his pain-filled mind:

'_What happened to Merlin?'_

* * *

><p><em>EDIT AS OF 2806/12_

_So this is in place of the previous first seven chapters of this story because they were utter rubbish. I know that it isn't much of an intro to the story and has nowhere near as much observation of the relationships but at least it was less OOC and didn't leave so many loose ends. To anyone joining us now, not all chapters will be this long, sorry._

_*I'm aware that this didn't appear until season three (I think) but I figured that they would have done it in the past._


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur awoke, it was a less than pleasant experience. As soon as he moved even slightly, his entire left side erupted into pain with an agonizing burn that blazed through his muscles. Even with his many years of training, he couldn't help the slight groan that escaped him; he quickly silenced himself by biting his lip.

It was almost a minute before he could summon the strength and courage to open his eyes, and when he did, he wished he hadn't. The light burned, sending more pain through the centre of his skull but he gritted his teeth and tried to get a bearing on his surroundings. There was fabric above his head that swayed with the wind.

'_A tent? I was... Where was I?' _The sudden disorientation terrified the prince, and he jolted, only to be rewarded with agony. Once the waves of pain had subsided, Arthur tried to reach out with his senses. He could hear the tell tale sounds of movement not far away and he could smell wood smoke. _'A camp site then. But whose?' _

Flashes of memories hit him. Nameless faces, weapons draw, a clearing, fallen comrades and through it all that inescapable pain in his shoulder. Gathering more courage, the prince was able to turn his head slightly, giving him a slightly wider range of vision, though the dimness of the tent made focusing difficult. A small part of his mind was buzzing and he was overwhelmed with the feeling that something – _someone _– was missing.

"Merlin!" The word was a strangled gasp on too dry lips but amid his panic the prince found that it didn't matter. Where was his servant? More memories wormed their way through the fog of his mind and he recalled his servant's desperate cry. _'When I turned around, he wasn't there. Why wasn't he there?' _Mustering the years of mental and physical training, he forced himself to take a deep breath, fighting against the agony across his chest and tried to remain calm.

Arthur had always been practical – someone who acted rather than thought. Sitting here, unable to move, was something that he couldn't stand and the knowledge that his... _friend _– he had to admit that to himself now – could be in danger only made the feeling ten times worse.

'_The knights will come. You're the crown prince. They will not abandon you.' _A small voice told him, one that sounded disturbing like his missing manservant. Since when did Merlin become someone who offered him useful advice? It hardly mattered at this stage in time though, Arthur could feel the walls of his consciousness beginning to fuzz again and he realised that he was going to have to relinquish his hold on reality. This time, the darkness was almost a comfort.

* * *

><p>Merlin was trembling. He was unsure at this point whether it was from cold, fear or concussion, though he was starting to believe that it was a combination of the three. Despite what Arthur may think, the warlock was no coward and he had long since accepted that with a destiny like his, it was wishful thinking to believe that anything would go without a hitch. Despite that he couldn't help but wonder if it was really too much to ask to go on <em>one <em>trip that didn't end in disaster. Apparently so. And so thanks to destiny, Arthur and the ever present ban of magic, here he was, freezing cold, tied to a post in the bandits' camp.

In truth, the warlock had very little idea what was happening. He was aware that he was being held by bandits. He was also aware that these bandits had formed a plan that revolved around the prince. This plan in turn revolved around Merlin spilling his guts about said prince's weaknesses. Every few minutes a bandit would walk over to him, probably stopping to kick him in the ribs or some other unpleasant action, before asking him once again to tell them everything he knew about Arthur. So far, he had told them nothing. It wasn't like he was going to give up on his destiny now, just to save himself some fairly insubstantial pain.

Merlin wasn't sure though why any of what he said mattered. The prince, from what he had gleaned by overheard conversations, was too badly injured to be doing much at this moment in time. When the warlock had first learned that Arthur was injured he had panicked so badly that a glass pitcher on the other side of the camp had shattered under the force of his magic. It had taken all his self control to beat his powers back down, just long enough to realise that the prince was going to be alright in the long run.

'_Maybe that's why they want me to talk. When Arthur recovers I can't imagine him just sitting around and waiting to be rescued.' _Merlin thought to himself. The idea was in fact laughable.

"Oi, you!" One of his captors broke away from the congregation by the fire (on the other side of the camp, so Merlin felt nothing of the warming flames). "You ready to talk yet?" As he spoke, his foot pressed down harshly onto the warlock's outstretched fingers, causing two distinctive snaps. Holding back the tears of pain that leapt to his eyes, he was unable to stop the small cry that escaped him. The man laughed viciously and a deep hatred flared within the warlock as adrenaline shot through him at the presentation of danger.

"Go to hell," he spat, grasping at his inner courage. The man brought his hand down onto the side of his face and Merlin's head snapped round sharply, white spots dancing before his eyes. When his vision cleared again, the bandit was crouched down next to him, his vile breath wafting into the warlock's face.

"Look, I have no quarrel with you. It is the prince and his king that I take issue with. Tell me what I want to know and you walk free." There was an earnest note in the man's voice that Merlin hadn't heard from the others - this man genuinely cared about the answer. It was more important to him somehow.

"You can promise me that, can you?" It wasn't like Merlin had any intention of giving him what he wanted but the bandit's face lifted with hope.

"I swear it. My word." The hope was there in his words too. Merlin had to resist the urge to laugh in his face at the thought that he would betray Arthur.

"The word of a bandit, who has kidnapped my master and I, broken my fingers and is now threatening me. Maybe I'll take my chances and stay silent," the last few words were hissed through tight lips. This was obviously not what Bad Breath – as Merlin had now christened him – had wanted to hear, and all he got was another blow to the face.

"You will regret that decision, _servant." _With that, he stood up and marched away, his posture tense. The warlock let out the breath he'd been holding, attempting to blink away the new coloured spots that twirled in his vision. They were red this time.

As soon as Merlin was sure that no one was concentrating on him, he began to look around for anything he could use to free himself. There was probably a spell that would release the ropes but he couldn't think of one that didn't involve setting them – and by extension himself – on fire. He quickly made a mental promise to learn one from his spell book whenever he got home. His search however was interrupted by a commotion from within one of the tents.

Throughout the time that he had been tied to the post, Merlin had been trying to work out where everything was in the camp. And he was fairly sure the tent that now had bandits streaming into it was the one that housed his master and friend.

His suspicions were confirmed when a semi conscious prince was dragged out into the clearing and deposited four or five metres away. Straining violently against his bindings, Merlin desperately checked Arthur over, having to fight nausea when he caught sight of the shoulder wound. Though it was bound, the bandages were covered in blood and had been loosened with the movement.

'_He must be in agony,' _the warlock mentally sympathised. As soon as the thought crossed into his mind, the prince looked around him with pain filled but sharp eyes. As soon as the blue orbs landed on Merlin they stilled and the warlock saw a flicker of outrage cross his features. For a moment the prince just stared at him, his forehead creased. Then:

"Merlin, what _happened _to you?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Silence!" Bad Breath commanded, his voice harsh; it would appear that he was the leader of these bandits. Arthur's eyes flickered from Merlin's battered face for a moment to the men surrounding him, then back at his fr- servant.

The warlock in return was searching for any sign that his master was hurt any further than the arrow wound. His probing gaze annoyed the prince slightly; as if Merlin could protect him. The thought was laughable to him.

"You appear to have chosen your companion wisely, my _prince._" The bandit spat the word with obvious disdain, his face contorting as though the idea of it burned him. "His loyalty to you is impressive." Merlin's face flushed lightly and all of a sudden he seemed unable to meet Arthur's eyes.

"You have me. You have no need for him. Let him go," Arthur commanded, his voice deadly. With that tone he could make the most seasoned knights tremble in their armour, so the bandit's response was unexpected: he laughed, doubling over slightly as he guffawed.

"Still think that you're in control of this situation, little princeling? You cannot order me. You have no power here." To prove a point he walked to Merlin's side, reaching out and grabbing hold of the warlock's hair.

Merlin couldn't withhold the cry of pain that escaped him as his head was yanked back harshly, colliding with the wooden post that he was bound to.

"Stop it!" Arthur's voice rang out, and from the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the prince try to stand. Immediately one of the bandits stamped a heavy boot onto the blonde's back, forcing him back into the dirt. His face was twisted into a combination of fury and worry and hidden deep in the depths of his eyes was pain.

The prince's shoulder was agony, blazing fire just beneath the surface of the skin. Had he burst into flames? He daren't look down to find out. He was doing the best he could to press the pain to the back of his mind but it was difficult. Every time he even tried, all his other aches and pains made themselves known loudly, fighting for dominance. The foot on his back dung into his spine and he knew that it would leave a bruise. Somewhere along the way he had twisted his ankle and every time he moved his foot a spike of pain danced its way up his leg. His skin was littered with small scrapes and bruises, presumably picked up when he was unconscious.

But even all of that paled slightly when facing a beaten Merlin, eyes wide with fear, at the utter mercy of their captors.

"Let him go!"

"Oh, the little prince still hasn't worked out who's in charge. Maybe you need a bit more help?" With that, Bad Breath kicked out at Merlin's ribs viciously, eliciting a snapping sound and another cry of pain from the warlock. Tears pooled in his eyes as roaring agony spread through his chest but he struggled to hold them back, snapping his eyes shut and concentrating on his breathing. The last thing he needed right now was for all the bandits to know how badly it hurt.

"Stop!" Arthur hesitated for a second. "Please." His voice was faint, as deep within him, his natural pride squirmed unhappily. He was begging? That was unacceptable.

'_It's Merlin. If I don't, they'll hurt him.' _He reasoned with himself.

"Please, don't hurt him." The words tasted foreign in his mouth but he spat them out anyway. He had no choice. The bandit leader looked at him for several moments, before slowly relinquishing his hold on Merlin's locks and taking a calculated step back. The warlock gratefully allowed his head to fall into a more natural position with a soft sigh, sending a quick, grateful smile at his master. He knew his prince well enough to know exactly how much that must have cost him.

"If you follow our commands, then you will both remain unharmed. Try and escape, or refuse to answer our questions, and the boy-" a nod towards Merlin, "-will be the one to suffer." The boy in question gulped at the statement, his pale face draining of even more blood, making the forming bruises even more prominent. "Tie up the prince."

The bandits hurried to obey their command, grasping Arthur's arms and hauling him up. The movement yanked at the arrow wound in his shoulder, crumbling all the walls that he has built against the pain. He cried out, the agony far too intense for him to try and remain silent. The burning sensation returned full force and the prince's vision turned black for almost a minute. When it returned, his hands were being tied to the same post as Merlin's, their backs to each other. Though he could see again, his sight was still fuzzy and unfocussed, the edges of his vision grey. Adrenaline pumped through his system, and his fingers twitched in their new bindings restlessly.

As soon as they had deemed the prince secure, the remaining bandits trickled away silently, back towards the fire and the warmth that it brought. Arthur was aware of Merlin shifting behind him, trying to reposition himself.

"Arthur." The prince was too exhausted and in too much agony to try to respond. "_Arthur!_" The warlock hissed.

"What?" He snapped in response. His voice was thick with pain and even the one simple word was garbled.

"You need to stay awake Arthur," came the response.

"Why? I'm tired," he mumbled back. His eyelids were drooping, as his fight to stay awake came to an end.

"Arthur! Come on, you can do better than this!" Suddenly an idea occurred to the warlock. Arthur would hate him for it but he couldn't let the prince fall asleep; if he did, it would only make his situation worse. Maneuvering himself once more, Merlin very carefully nudged Arthur's injured arm. Immediately he was jolted back into consciousness, as the pain flared again, strong and fresh and burning.

"_Mer_lin!" His voice was outraged and the warlock could picture the way his face would turn a shade of flustered red and his mouth would contort into an angry grimace.

"Arthur, you need to stay awake! If you fall asleep, you might end up with a fever, or worse!" Something within the prince recognised the truth, but he was too angry to really accept that now.

"How dare you! I could charge you with treason for that," he threatened, his voice harsh. He could feel his manservant flinch at that and a small trickle of guilt filled him before it was burned away under the agony.

"When we get back to Camelot, feel free. Until then, you _cannot _fall asleep!" Merlin replied, then fell silent, struggling to get past his own pain from his ribs every time that he breathed. There was a long, tense moment when neither of them spoke but then the prince sighed softly, sagging a little to try and make himself more comfortable.

"Alright then, Merlin. I'll do my best." The image of his manservant's bruises rose up again. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine." He was unwilling to burden Arthur with his pain. The prince was coping with enough already and he was going to need a clear mind. "I have an idea to get us out of here, but it's going to be difficult." Straight away, Arthur shook his head, then realising that Merlin couldn't see him:

"No way. If it doesn't work, you'll be the one to pay the price. You might be a useless servant, but even you don't deserve whatever twisted punishment these dogs can think up." Though he was never going to admit it, Merlin was a little touched by his master's concern.

"Then we'd best hope that it works. Are you in?"


	4. Chapter 4

"This is never going to work." Merlin sighed at Arthur's insightful comment.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it's not like we have much of a choice. Unless of course you want to remain at the mercy of these brutes?" As the warlock spoke, his eyes ghosted over the figures still crowding around the warmth of the fire. As his eyes took in the flames he shivered, more from exhilaration than cold.

"Shut up, _Mer_lin," was the Prince's witty response. "Are you sure you want to do this? If we don't make it..."

"They'll make me pay for it, I know. We've been through this Arthur." In truth, the warlock was terrified out of his mind whenever he thought about whatever punishment their captors could dream up should his plan fail. It was so much easier to believe that they'd make it out.

The plan itself was relatively simple. Well, the parts that he'd explained to Arthur were. Get out of the bindings, wait until there was an opening, run for it. Try and find weapons along the way. Looking at the size of the bandits, Merlin didn't doubt that he and his master could outrun them and at no stage had he seen horses. The warlock's true plan involved a little more cunning and a lot more magic but explaining all that to the son of a king with a severe hatred of sorcerers might have been difficult.

"I don't like it. It's never going to work!" Arthur tried to shift so that he could look at his servant but the pain that the movement caused had him collapsing back to the earth. Merlin felt the tug on his own bindings and heard the muffled curse that flew from Arthur's mouth.

"Are you going to be able to run if we get out of here?"

"I'll be fine as soon as we make it back to Camelot. If this half brained plan is going to get us home, then we'll have to make it work, won't we?" Arthur's voice was tight with pain but it carried within it his strength and determination. Merlin caught the meaning: _'Even if I can't make it, I'll run myself into the ground trying.'_

"Alright then. Time to get out of here." As he spoke, he began to saw the ropes that bound him with a jagged stone from the earthen floor. It was slow work, made harder by the fact that every time he moved, Arthur had to suppress a gasp of pain and every now and then a bandit would glance over to check on them.

"Hurry up Merlin," Arthur order, the words a whisper of air.

"I'm doing my best. This isn't exactly easy you know," he responded, just as quietly. With a quick glance around to make sure that no bandits were watching too closely, Merlin felt his eyes flare gold as the magic spread through him. The rope gave. It took a lot of his will power not to crow with delight.

"Brilliant. Now all we have to do is get out of the camp without being seen. I wish that was as easy as it sounded," Arthur deadpanned.

"We can't give up now. If they see the ropes are cut they'll know we tried to escape." Merlin hissed back. The Prince's pessimism was starting to bring him down.

"Try being the active word in that sentence." The warlock made no response, but instead began to focus his attention on the bandits. Over the last hour or so he had been weaving spells around the clearing, muttering words in the ancient language quietly enough that Arthur couldn't hear. Several of the bandits had dropped off in to a magical slumber, whilst others had become enthralled in whatever they were doing, so much so that anything else faded to insignificance.

Merlin had no idea how well the spells would work, nor how long they would last; he had simply strung words together until he produced a spell that sounded as though it might have the desired effect. The outcome however was unpredictable.

"Are you ready?" He muttered to the prince, his wiry muscles bunching in anticipation.

"On the count of three. Stick to the plan and no matter what happens, keep running." Both of them shifted uneasily into a semi crouch. "Three, two," Merlin took a deep breath. "One!" In an instant they were both up and moving as fast as they could, in opposite directions, doing their best to take a path that kept them out of sight.

The warlock had barely made it ten paces when one of the bandit's cried out, alerting the camp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the men standing, glancing around in confusion as more bandits piled out of their tents, grabbing weapons as they went. Merlin briefly considered ducking into a tent to hide, before deciding that they would only find him and then he would be in serious trouble. Forcing more energy into his legs, he raced across the ground, darting around tables and tents, his lungs burning more with every step.

He had ascertained beforehand that several of his ribs had been broken when he was kicked but he had decided against mentioning it to the prince. There was nothing that he could have done other than worry and try and discourage their escape plan. But now, every breath fanned the flames consuming his chest, crushing out the breath in his lungs and sending his thoughts into scattered patterns. Lights blinked and faded in his vision, the whole world tilting and going grey for a time.

'_Just keep going. Ignore the pain.' _He whispered to his own mind. The warlock had no idea where Arthur was now, if he was still safe or not. The prince was a more hardened warrior than Merlin and was much faster and fitter but he had an arrow wound and blood lost to contend with. Not being able to see the prince was sending the warlock into an acute state of panic but he forced himself past it.

He was beyond the edges of the camp now, the trees looming up around him, casting deep shadows. The pounding of blood in his ears prevented him from listening for following footsteps and he doubted that his ribs could stand him twisting around to see if any of the bandits were on his tail, so he just bent his head down and forced the ground to fly beneath him.

Silently, he thanked whoever had taught Arthur his geography when he was younger. Had Merlin been alone, he would have had no idea what direction to head in and would probably never make it home again. Though he knew that surrounding area of Ealdor like the back of his hand, his knowledge of Camelot's land was sketchy at best. Arthur, however, had been able to work out almost exactly where they were being held by the types of tree and the bird calls he could hear. He'd never admit it, even under torture, but Merlin was impressed.

It wasn't until his legs began to tremble with the effort that Merlin realised he couldn't go much further - he needed to find somewhere he could hide and regain his breath. The only problem was that this area of the forest was very open and hiding places were rare.

Suddenly, several things happened at once. His footsteps faltered and Merlin had to struggle to remain on his feet, his knees almost buckling under exhaustion. He heard, past the rush of blood in his ears, a bow sting loose an arrow with a snap and half a second later, pain raced up his leg, bringing him to the ground. As soon as he was down, a weight fell on top of him, pressing painfully on his ribs to the point his vision whited out entirely. Through the agony, he was aware of shouting and movement around him.

A small part of his mind tried to tell him that he was in danger and he needed to get away but the pain was taking over, setting all his nerves alight. Instinctively, his magic flared within him, protective and strong. His thoughts were too scattered to command it and the magic itself has no thought, so it did the only thing it could to help him: it forced him out of consciousness.

Blissful peace.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur's escape had not gone exactly to plan. Well, none of it had had an outcome that he even remotely desired. He had barely even gotten out of the camp before the bandits were right behind him, gaining ground quickly. It would appear that running with an arrow wound in your shoulder was not the easiest way to escape a heavily defended bandit camp.

So now, he was back at the camp, tied to the same damn post as before, only this time he was alone. He neither had seen nor heard anything about his manservant, and all he could do was pray that the idiot had found some way of getting back to Camelot. Then he could tell the king, and soldiers would be here by nightfall, ready to rescue their prince and make the dogs that took him pay.

His prayers went unanswered. About an hour after he had been dragged, kicking and screaming, back to the post, there was a disturbance to his right, and suddenly several more bandits appeared out of the trees, grinning stupidly. For a second, the prince couldn't breathe, could barely see. In one of the bandit's arms, lay a still, pale-faced manservant.

"Ragley! What do you want us to do with this one?" The bandits called over to their leader.

'_Ragley. I'll remember that name,' _Arthur thought bitterly. His complete attention was now focused on the dark haired boy, who looked for all the world dead. Desperately, the blonde haired prince searched for any sign of life, any slight movement that could release the tight band that had settled around his chest.

"What's wrong with him?" The leader called back, no concern in his voice. As long as the prince lived, then he would get the rewards he craved. The boy was just a bonus.

"Dunno," the bandit supplied unhelpfully. "We hit him with an arrow-" Arthur's anger flared, "-then he just sort of collapsed."

"Is he alive?" Ragley moved towards the group of men, and the prince had to withhold a hiss at the thought of the worm being any closer to Merlin.

"Yeah, I think so." All of a sudden, Arthur's chest loosened as relief flooded through his veins, warm and sharp.

"Tie him with the prince. When he wakes, he'll get his reward for trying to run." As he spoke, he turned towards Arthur and shot him a grin. The blonde glared back, fury tearing through him. "I told you, Prince Arthur, that should you do anything _displeasing _that the boy would pay the price, did I not?"

"He has done nothing to you! Leave him be. It is me you want, and now you have me. Just let him go!" Arthur was unused to panicking. Even in the heat of battle he was always able to keep a clear head, but faced with his idiotic, loyal servant being punished by these criminals, he found that he was completely out of his depth.

"Have you not learnt by now that you hold no authority here? I give the orders, and unless you want your friend to suffer further, then you will remember that. I am a man of my word, Pendragon, and I told you that disobeying me would have consequences." With that, he turned and strode into what Arthur guessed to be his tent. It was the largest by far, and of better make than the others.

Behind him, the prince vaguely felt Merlin being tied to the post, but it was hard to focus. The pain, worry, anger and exhaustion were warring for dominance in his head, and thinking clearly was far too difficult. As soon as the bandits had back off though, he turned his head, trying to see his fellow captive.

"Merlin!" He hissed, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. With his uninjured arm, he nudged the boy gently. In response, there was a slight groan and shifting, though any movement was rapidly cut off with a gasp of pain.

Merlin felt like he was on fire. Every part of him burned with pain, blazing beneath his skin. There was agony ripping through his chest from his ribs, and every time he tried to shift his leg, the pain would leave him breathless. Even though his eyes were closed, he knew that if he were to open them then his vision would be too hazy to see anything. Somewhere, someone was calling his name.

"Merlin, wake up this minute!"

'_Arthur. It's Arthur.' _He was aware that there was something unpleasant about this observation, but his thoughts were too scattered to make out what it was.

"Wha... What happened?" His voice was quiet, it wouldn't carry to the bandits.

"You let yourself get recaptured, you idiot," Arthur informed him, still trying to twist around to examine him for injuries. If he had been shot with an arrow, then he could be in serious trouble. "Are you hurt?"

"My ribs. My leg." The pain left him panting for breath, and full sentences were beyond him.

"Your leg?" That hadn't been injured before. "An arrow wound?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark haired boy bobbing his head in an affirmative. The prince hissed under his breath.

"Aren't you-" a gasp for air, "going to say- I told you so?" Merlin had to fight to get the words out.

"What?" Arthur shot back, completely nonplussed.

"It didn't work," The warlock said simply. The words were accompanied with a very slight shrug. Arthur was unsure whether it was good or bad for his servant to be quite so calm.

"In this case, I'm not even sure I want to." The prince's eyes travelled back to the fire, and a sudden longing for its warmth gripped him. It wasn't unusually cold, but the night was drawing closer, and the day's heat was fading.

"Are you alright?" Merlin's concern was unconcealed in his voice. Arthur scoffed lightly.

"You're the one with the broken ribs," he retorted.

"Your shoulder's injured," Merlin reminded his master, speaking as if to a toddler who didn't understand. Arthur, for his part, didn't need reminding. The pain was doing that, all on its own.

"I've had worse." This much was true. "I'll be fine." This was slightly more doubtful, but there was no reason to point that at to Merlin, who would only start worrying himself into a state, Arthur thought fondly.

For several moments, neither of them said anything. The only sound that came from the pair was Merlin's harsh breath around his broken ribs, and Arthur's occasional gasp of pain as the muscles in his shoulder shifted.

"Well. You are quite the pair, aren't you?" Ragley's voice was filled with sardonic admiration. "I didn't believe that you would be stupid enough to try and escape. The time has come for you to pay for that mistake." Merlin gulped quietly, his muscles bunching in fear. His natural instinct to run, to hide, was going into overdrive, making his bonds feel tighter than ever. With a wave of his hand, Ragley signalled for two of the bandits to untie Merlin.

They yanked him to his feet, forcing an uncomfortable amount of weight to fall on his injured leg. His knees buckled, and a cry of pain tumbled into the still air.

"Merlin!" Arthur's voice was slightly higher with panic and worry. "Ragley, let him go! He has done nothing!"

"Ah, but Prince Arthur, you still do not understand." A nod to one of his men, and Merlin was doubling over with a fist in his stomach. He gasped as the air rushed out of him, and the movement pulled painfully at his ribs.

"No!" Arthur's shout was full of stress, as he pulled at the bindings to try and twist round to see his friend.

"I give the orders here! And you may be right, that this boy has done me no harm. But you and your kin have, and for that they must pay. I am no fool as to expect you have many weaknesses, but we have found one. And it just so happens that it is the pain of an innocent," he smiled wickedly. Merlin was rapidly beginning to discover just how low this man had sunk. Ragley turned back to the men holding the warlock.

"Tie him up," he ordered. They complied immediately, pulling him around to the other side of the post, in front of Arthur. His leg was refusing to do anything at all, so all the warlock could do was be dragged along. Once there, a rope was thrown around an overhanging branch and secured on one side. The other end was bound around Merlin's wrists and hoisted upwards until the warlock had to balance on his toes. Panic was becoming loud in his mind; he had seen men tied like this before. This was a flogging.

The men that had held him backed away, spreading out. On a few faces, Merlin was distantly surprised to see small traces of pity. Beyond the all consuming fear it was hard to concentrate.

"Ragley, please! Don't do this!" Arthur's pleas were useless, but he couldn't seem to stop. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

"I warned you, my _Prince,_" He hissed. The sudden silence that followed was shattered with the crack of a whip.


	6. Chapter 6

_I know that there was a wait for this. Sorry! I may have gotten a little carried away with the whump here, so be warned. It might be a little graphic. I also noticed that I never said in the previous chapter that the bandits removed Merlin's jacket and top. Just assume that they did :P _

_Just a small plug, if you could vote in my poll (it's on my profile) that would be really nice :)_

**..**

Merlin couldn't breathe. A deep rooted panic was taking control as his natural fear of pain became apparent. Over the roaring in his ears he could just make out the jeers of the bandits and the terrified shouts of Arthur. The warlock knew that he should probably be surprised by the prince's show of affection for the servant, but at this stage his mind was too preoccupied.

When the whip came down, it was a second before Merlin could truly comprehend what had happened. He felt himself jerk forwards, and then everything was on fire. It felt as though his entire torso had been cleaved in two, agony blazing through his entire body, until he was left whimpering and trembling, hanging limply from his bonds. The warlock had known pain. When he had been poisoned, he had known the feeling of his body slowly succumbing to darkness. When Sigan had tried to take Camelot, he had felt what it would be like to have his entire soul crushed out of existence. But now, all previous hurts felt like mere scratches, paling in comparison to the gut wrenching pain that flowed from his back.

The agony was so all consuming that he was thoroughly unprepared for the second strike. He hadn't known that the pain could get any greater, but it did. He was completely overwhelmed, and a very small part of him recognised that if it got any worse, destiny be damned, he couldn't do this. If his mind was forced to deal with anything else then he would burst.

Merlin could feel himself sobbing, though he had never consciously chosen to do so, but he could hear nothing. There was a ringing in his ears, and his eye sight was riddled with black spots, to the point that he could see almost nothing. His thoughts were too disjointed for him to make anything out. The only thing he knew was pain.

Another strike. He writhed madly against his bindings, aware that the movement was only causing more pain, but he had to get away. Another strike. More flames, taking hold, until he knew that the only thing left would be a burned out shell of a man. There was warmth seeping down his back, unconnected with the pain. A part of him recognised it as his own blood.

Deep within his core his magic was forcing its way to the surface, determined to help. He had pushed it down again; if it came to his aid, then Arthur would see. But he was too far gone now, too lost in the realms of agony, that he could do nothing to hinder the magic's progress. It blossomed, but it was undirected, and so it swirled helplessly within his chest.

There was another blow. More screams of agony clawed their way out of his throat, raw and angry. His body contorted as the heavily abused muscles of his back spasmed out of his control. His magic snapped; it couldn't bear this. For the second time in the space of a day, the magic clouded his senses, and he knew no more.

**..**

Arthur wasn't quite sure he could name all the emotions surging through him as he watched Ragley prepare to flog Merlin. Rage was definitely one. Guilt another. Fear, though it was unexpected. He was genuinely terrified of what was about to happen to the boy who could be called nothing other than a friend.

"Please!" He was shouting, the pleading becoming easier as his terror peaked. "You don't have to do this! He's done nothing to you! Please!" He knew that his words were useless; he could see a gleam in Ragley's eyes that could only be found in the most demented criminals. Not only did the bandit think that this was right and justified, but he was going to enjoy it.

Arthur's eyes followed the whip as it was brought down hard against Merlin, and he cried out at the same time as the warlock. He could see the gash the leather had cleaved upon his servant's back, and the blood that flowed from it sickened him. Merlin had managed to cut off his cry of pain, but his chest heaved in dry sobs, his arms twisting in the ropes that held him.

As the prince of Camelot, Arthur had, of course, seen men being flogged before. That didn't mean that he enjoyed it. He was fairly confident that when he was king, he would only ever resort to it for the lowest of the low, and certainly not for loyal servants whose only crime was maybe being a little late in the mornings. Merlin might have faults, but didn't everyone? He didn't deserve this.

Oblivious to Arthur's cries for mercy, Ragley didn't let up, he just kept striking until Merlin's back was a mess of gashes and bruises that the prince couldn't bear to look at. Even some of the bandits that had congregated to watch had now stopped their cheering and were looking at their prisoners with something akin to sympathy.

It wasn't until, after thirteen strokes, that Merlin's body couldn't take it anymore. The screams died in his throat and he went limp in the ropes.

'_Oh god. Don't let him be dead. He needs to live,' _Arthur's mind panicked. Fear gripped him once more, setting all his bones alight with a cold fire. His eyes were fixed on the side of Merlin's face that he could see, but he could detect no movement.

One of the bandits, ushered forwards by Ragley moved to the captive's side, searching for a pulse among the clammy skin of the boy's neck. The entire campsite held their breath, waiting for the verdict. A pregnant pause.

"He's alive!" Came the surprised, though not necessarily unhappy shout. The relief that flooded Arthur was so strong that it was almost painful. He wasn't a fool; he knew that even if Merlin was alive he wasn't out of the woods yet, literally. They were being held against their will, by bandits who seemed to enjoy torturing innocent servants, and both of them were wounded. Even if another opportunity presented itself to them now, there was no way that the warlock could make a break for it.

'_But he's alive,' _his mind crowed in delight. He supposed that one day he would cease to be surprised to realise how much the idiotic servant had gotten under his skin, but it wasn't today. _'When did I start caring about a servant?'_

His thoughts however were interrupted by Ragley's voice.

"Take him down. Put them both in the spare tent, with three guards outside at all times." For a second no one moved, but several bandits threw sideways glances at Arthur, clearly contemplating untying an angry and well trained prince. "Now!" Ragley screamed at them, his face flushing in anger.

As the men moved towards Merlin, Arthur tensed, watching their actions closely. The men that were freeing Arthur from the post watched him closely for any sign of aggressiveness, but the prince's attentions were focussed entirely on his servant. He wasn't going anywhere, and so neither was Arthur. The only thing that was keeping the warlock alive was his use as a pawn in the battle for dominance between Ragley and the prince.

His arms were seized and he was hauled to his feet, and he had to crush a moan of pain at his shoulder was jolted. The pain was still very present, though his entire arm was gradually becoming numb, which Arthur was fairly sure, wasn't a good sign. In a slightly sick way, Merlin's torment was a distraction from the prince's own pain, and he found that he was coping better than he previously had been.

The warlock was still out for the count when they slashed the ropes holding him up, and he dropped into the arms of one of the bandits. The man struggled to find a way of transporting the limp form, and settled eventually for hauling him over his shoulder roughly. The movement didn't cause Merlin to even stir slightly. Arthur's worry was growing rapidly again.

'_Surely he should have woken by now?' _Whilst the prince was thankful for anything that spared the warlock pain, this couldn't be healthy.

The tent that they were dragged to was small and out of the way, but Arthur, being a military man could see why it was chosen. The back of the tent faced a sheer rock wall, and on the left of the tent there was a large oak tree. The right of the tent was shielded by a conveniently placed cart. That left the only way in or out being the flap at the front, and therefore escape was going to be almost impossible. Clearly, Ragley was smarter than he looked.

Inside it was dim, but there was enough light to make out the shape of a sleeping mat to one side and a single, low stool. Apart from that, the tent was empty.

"Water and food will be brought." One of the bandits spat out, then as soon as his companions were out of earshot, his face softened slightly. "I'll see if I can get some bandages and a poultice for your friend." Arthur looked at him in surprise. "Not all of us believe in Ragley's tyrannical actions," he said in response to the prince's questioning gaze. Then, without another word, he followed his companions out of the tent, leaving the two captives alone.

Kneeling down, Arthur got his first good look at his friend's injuries.

"My god Merlin, what have they done to you?" He muttered to himself, placing a hand very gently on the unbroken skin of the boy's shoulder. He didn't stir.

It was going to be a long night, Arthur realised as the sunlight that fell on the tent turned deep amber, before fading into shadows.

'_But we'll make it through.' _He wasn't sure if it was a statement or a prayer.

**..**

_There we have it. I hope you liked the chapter, and that you forgive me for not updating. As I said before, I may have been a little bit carried away with the whump, but I hope you don't mind. Most people seem to quite like it, no matter how disturbing that may be :) Only joking._

_Anyways, have a good few days, until I see you again. And if you do have some spare time, I'd love it if you could vote in the poll :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_Wow, so many wonderful reviews for the last chapter! Clearly the whump didn't put people off. I've been threatened in some hilarious ways to update, so here I am. My favourite I must say was the rabid snails threat, so congratulations __**EvilCabbagezPwn**__ for that! Also, __**MerlinFan1996, **__you're awesome. Enough said :) _

_Sorry that I couldn't reply to all your brilliant reviews, I'm still on holiday, but I'm at a different house now, and there's no internet here. It means that although I can still write on the laptop, I can't update without going to an internet cafe, and when I'm there I don't really have time to reply to all my emails. But I just want to say thank you, you're all amazing, and you really made my day. _

**..**

It was during the grey light of dawn that Merlin finally stirred.

Throughout the night, the prince had watched over him, cleaning his wounds with the water that they were given, applying the poultice that was smuggled to them, and then bandaging his torso to keep out infection. Arthur might not be a physician, but he had suffered enough wounds of his own to know roughly what to do. During the process, the prince found himself once again thanking the oblivion that spared the boy pain for the moment.

"Arth..." Merlin mumbled, his tongue seeming far too large for his mouth. Too say that he was disorientated was an understatement. He had no idea where he was, and his last memory was of waking up tied to a post with the prince.

'_Arthur!' _His thoughts suddenly jolted into consciousness as he realised that he had no idea where the prince was. It had become something of a habit of Merlin's to be aware of Arthur at all times; it made keeping him alive much easier. _'If he's got himself in more trouble, I'll kill him myself.' _

"Merlin?" It was the prat himself. His voice was thick, but the warlock couldn't quite work out why. It sounded very much like worry, but that wouldn't make sense; Arthur never worried, about anything other than Camelot at least. _'Is Camelot in danger now too?' _He wondered blearily, allowing the pull of consciousness to tug him further into coherency.

"Wha- What happened?" His voice was even hoarser than Arthur's, and when he spoke, it set his throat alight. Swallowing, he winced as his throat blazed. As more of his senses came back online, his awareness of the surrounding area grew. Judging by the uncomfortable way he was breathing, he could guess that he was lying on his front, on rough ground. Frowning to himself, he tried to roll himself over onto his back to alleviate the weight that had fallen on his chest.

It was a mistake. Merlin cried out in pain as he tried to move, the muscles in his back and shoulders screamed in agony. The flames of his throat spread all along his spine, a roaring inferno that threatened to send him back into unconsciousness. The pain scattered his bewildered thoughts, and though he tried to remember why he was in such pain, he came up blank.

"Lie still you idiot!" A voice to his left cried, surprise and worry evident in the tone. Warm hands rested on the tops of his shoulders, the one part of his torso that didn't hurt. The warmth of the hands was comforting, a completely different sensation to the fiery heat of his pain. "You're going to hurt yourself if you move."

Gasping for air, trying to think through the multitude of pains that were suddenly making themselves known, he was able to force out: "It's a little late for that."

"What have I told you about trying to be funny, _Mer_lin?" Came the response.

"I need to roll over," Merlin ground out, hating the idea of trying to move again, but now that the agony of his back was fading slightly into severe pain, he was realising that the aching in his ribs was due to more than just the continued pressure against them. A vague memory swam into his mind of being kicked and the bones snapping. He forced the thought away.

"That is not a good idea. Your back... it's not good." There was a certain amount of guilt in Arthur's voice that Merlin didn't quite understand.

"Onto my side then. I can't breathe," he persisted, all the while trying to piece together why he was in so much pain. After thinking for a moment, the prince relented, and very carefully helped his servant to roll sideways. The shifting left the poor boy whimpering and shivering, screwing his eyes up against the pain. "You- you didn't answer my question," he accused once he could breathe again.

"Which one was that?"

"What's going on? Where are we?"

"You don't remember anything?" Arthur frowned at him, and deep within his eyes, Merlin thought he saw the faintest glimmer of hope.

"I remember running, and..."He faltered slightly. "The arrow." His leg seemed to burn with more intensity than before. "I woke up at the post. Then... nothing." The prince raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but he said nothing for several long minutes. After a while, the servant began to become very uncomfortable under the gaze, but every time he shifted nervously, the pain reared up once more, driving him back to the ground. "What?" He demanded eventually, once he was feeling thoroughly awkward.

"I'm... surprised that you don't remember. I'm glad that you don't." His words just confused Merlin all the more, and it must have shown on his face. "It isn't something that you want to be able to relive," he explained.

"Arthur, please, just tell me what happened." It was quiet for so long that he thought the prince was just going to ignore his request.

"Ragley was angry at us, for trying to get away. He wanted to teach us a lesson, and so he made good on his threat against you." He paused, and for a second, the warlock could see all his emotions fly across his face: Sadness, guilt, anger and a helplessness that terrified the servant. "He had you flogged."

And suddenly Merlin wasn't seeing in the inside of the dim tent anymore, but was sucked into his own memories. He realised why he hadn't been able to remember: he hadn't wanted to. Each moment, each cry of pain burst into his mind in splendid horror.

The prince watched his servant pale with alarm.

"Merlin?" No answer. "Merlin!" The dark haired boy just continued to stare blankly at the canvas of the tent, his face drawn into a mask of terror. Grabbing the warlock's shoulders, Arthur had to fight the urge to try and shake him out of his stupor. "Merlin, listen to me! You're alright. You're going to be ok. Snap out of it!"

It took a moment for the words to penetrate the haze in the warlock's mind, but Merlin reached for the sound, the anchor to safety. The prince saw the far away look in the boy's eyes fade, until he blinked and refocused entirely.

"There you are, you idiot. You're safe." Feeling slightly awkward at the closeness of the moment, Arthur stood and began pacing the small space of the tent, crossing his arms and curling in on himself. He was exhausted, he'd stayed awake all night, and now it was catching up with him. Something was very wrong with his shoulder. He could no longer feel much of the wound, nor anything beyond his elbow, and a bone chilling cold was beginning to seep its way down the side of his ribs.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked tentatively, watching his master pace back and forth.

"What's wrong? You really have to ask?" There was an underlying anger in his tone, and the warlock wondered vaguely if it was directed at him or not. He hoped that it wasn't. Arthur sounded _livid. _"It might have something to do with the fact, _Mer_lin, that we are currently being held captive by a psychotic bandit with control issues, no one knows where we are, escaping is going to be next to impossible, and if we so much as think about stepping out of line, you're going to get beaten to hell. Did I miss anything?"

Merlin thought carefully for a moment. "It's not all bad." He said eventually, earning him a glare from Arthur.

'_Oh that's right. We don't antagonise angry princes.' _He reminded himself.

"What part of this situation is good then?"

"We're not dead," he pointed out. "And Ragley," he could help but spit the name, "doesn't appear to be trying to change that status. Just yet anyhow."

"Not through lack of trying. Have you seen yourself recently?"

"I'm trying quite hard not to look." This was true; the warlock was terrified of what he might see should he try and examine himself. If he moved it felt as though all the flesh of his back had been stripped, and even in his imagination that was an unpleasant image.

With a world weary sigh, the prince dropped down beside Merlin, careful not to move the servant at all. He didn't need any more guilt.

"There's something else. What is it?" Aware that Merlin's all too understanding eyes were on his face, Arthur bullied his features into faux innocence.

"Nothing." He snapped, looking down and away, hiding his eyes.

"Arthur, tell me what's wrong," he commanded, oblivious to the fact that, as a lowly servant, he really had no place in ordering the Crown Prince of Camelot to do something. In this place, titles didn't matter. His order was ignored. "_Arthur._ Talk to me. Please." From the way that the prince's fingers started to worry the edge of his shirt, the warlock knew that he was getting somewhere. He didn't want to force Arthur to tell him anything though, so he said nothing else, just continued to watch the prince squirm slightly. If it hadn't been such a serious moment, Merlin would have found it amusing.

"This is all my fault," came the eventual answer. As soon as the words were out, the prince jumped to his feet and began to pace again. He was starting to wear down a small track through the centre of the tent. Merlin said nothing, giving himself time to get his words right.

"Listen to me. _None _of what has happened is your fault. We were captured because we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one can be blamed for what happened, other than Ragley. He was the one who gave the order. It was my idea to try and get away, even though you didn't want to. I _convinced _you to run. It was my actions that caused Ragley's anger, not yours. I know that your nature means that you think everything is about you," he smiled good naturedly, "but in this case it isn't. You cannot blame yourself for this."

Arthur stared at him, surprise written across his face. Once the initial shock of the words wore off, a small smile started playing around his mouth.

"You don't blame me?"

"Of course not!" Merlin was slightly offended that Arthur thought that he was beyond forgiveness. He rolled his eyes at his master. "If I started blaming you for things, then I would have had to quit my job long ago," he remarked, earning a laugh from the prince.

"And if I blamed _you _for things, then you would have been fired long ago," he retorted playfully.

"What are you talking about? You've fired me several times already. Even when it wasn't my fault. You just missed me when I wasn't there, so you hired me again."

"Yes, for a small amount of time I was forced to cope with a competent servant, it was horrible," he said in a voice thick with sarcasm. "He was on time each morning; he knocked at the door..."

"...He was possessed by an evil sorcerer," Merlin muttered, but the prince heard it anyway.

"That was only one time," he defended, but he knew it was weak. "If you hadn't been such an idiot and told me what was going, none of that would have happened." The warlock bristled.

"I _did _tell you! And what did you do? Oh yes, you threw me in the dungeons!" Arthur just laughed and let it go. "Sometimes I think you just enjoy arresting me," Merlin accused petulantly.

"Sometimes I do. The stocks are a personal favourite of yours I believe."

"Only when you're being a prat. So most of the time, yes," he grinned.

"_Mer_lin!" He scolded in mock outrage. They both knew that they didn't mean what they were saying; their banter was just a good way to deal with a bad situation. The warlock was particularly thankful for it; it was helping to keep the waves of agony at bay. By remaining completely motionless, the fires were dimming down, but it still ached fiercely.

"Someone is coming," Arthur said after a moment of comfortable silence. Automatically Merlin tried to shift so that he was in a less defenceless position, but the agony knocked him back to the floor, leaving him gasping in pain. The prince was at his side in an instant, soothing the warlock gently.

When Ragley entered the tent, Merlin could breathe again, though the pain still rippled through him.

"So, how are our prisoners doing this morning?" He asked with a false cheeriness, a mocking smile on his face. Neither 'prisoner' said anything, just glared at him. The warlock was slightly impressed that Ragley was unaffected by Arthur's cold stare; he had rage written in every line of his face, and if Merlin had been on the receiving end, he would already be running for dear life.

"Are you not feeling talkative? That's such a pity," his voice dropped lower, a sadistic glee infecting his tone. He went to cross the tent to Merlin, but in two strides, the prince put himself between the two.

"What do you want from us?" Arthur's voice was stone cold.

"I want information. I want money. I _want _my freedom back," Ragley snarled, his eyes darkening in hatred.

"If its freedom you want, kidnapping the Crown Prince of Camelot is probably not the way to go," Merlin pointed out, then tried to avoid flinching as the bandit glared venomously.

"But there is something else I want. I want Uther Pendragon, King of the mighty Camelot, to suffer. And there is only one thing on this earth that he cares about:" he turned his glare to the prince. "His son." Merlin felt something sink in his chest. He would be willing to bet a year's wages that this was related to the purge. It always was. The warlock wondered just how many people wanted Arthur dead, just so that they could make Uther suffer 'as they had suffered.'

'_Honestly, the king isn't making my destiny any easier,' _he thought, slightly bitterly.

"You know my father?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"I spoke to him only once. To plead for my wife's life during the purge."

'_Ding ding,' _Merlin thought silently.

"She had done no harm to anyone. She didn't even have magic herself, but her brother did, and for your _precious _father, it was enough to condemn her to death. You believe that I am a monster, but your king has killed more innocents than you would believe." For the first time, there were true emotions in Ragley's voice. There was an ancient pain from the death of one he loved, and in spite of everything that the bandit had done, the warlock felt the faint swells of pity forming in his chest.

"You're right." Arthur said eventually, and Merlin's head snapped up to him in surprise. "I don't have to believe you. Why would I trust you over my father?" The warlock settled down again, trying to cope with the lash of hurt that he felt whenever the prince said something against magic. Every time it happened, it seemed that his destiny was just a little further out of reach.

"I don't expect you to trust me boy," Ragley answered simply, with a slight shrug, his voice back to its usual flatness. "I expect you to answer my questions and to know that if you don't, our little friend here-" he jerked his head towards Merlin, "-will be the one who suffers."

"You proved that before. Let him be," Arthur ordered, and then remembered himself. "Please." The more he found himself pleading, the less his pride seemed to get in the way. He had learned his lesson with the flogging, and he vowed to himself that he would do whatever he had to to prevent Merlin from being forced through anything like it again.

Ragley appraised the prince for several moments, taking in his sincerity, and the rage that was hiding behind it.

"I must admit, when I planned this, I did not foresee your attachment to the boy. A prince, friends with a servant," he mocked bitterly. Neither of his captives said anything. What was there to say?

Merlin for his part knew that he would be loyal to Arthur until the day he died, and not just because of some vague destiny, but because he believed in the prince and the Camelot that he would build. He had known for a while that Arthur was his friend, but even now, he doubted that he would ever be a friend of Arthur's. The man was a prince, and he had taken several opportunities to remind the servant that it meant they could never be close.

"You will answer my questions?"

"Why don't you ask them and see?" Arthur suggested dully. There was no way for this situation to end well.

The bandit laughed, his entire body shaking. "Come with me little prince," he commanded, then spun on his heel and marched out the tent. Arthur looked at Merlin, his face torn. He didn't want to leave him defenceless, but not obeying an order would certainly not end well for his servant.

"Go," Merlin told him, sensing the indecision. "I'll be fine."

Without wasting another second, Arthur strode to the door and disappeared from sight. As soon as he was alone, Merlin let out his breath in a gush of air. Someday, his job was going to get him killed.

**..**

_This is the longest chapter I've ever written, so I hope that you enjoy it. Over 3000 words! I don't know when I'll be able to update again, hopefully soon._


	8. Chapter 8

_I know, I'm a horrible person. Sorry! Basically I hit a massive wall of writers block and had no inspiration at all, then I found some more recent spoilers for season four and fell into a fan girl coma for several days, and _then_ I had to return to the dreaded place known as school. So it all kind of built up and I haven't written anything for ages. But here is the new chapter, sorry if it's rubbish, I did say that I had no inspiration at all..._

_Oh, and for the poets among you, try and spot the semi quote thing :)_

**..**

It was several minutes before Ragley said anything. Arthur's anxiety was running riot through his mind: fear for Merlin, a dread for the questions that he had little choice but to answer.

'_Where do your loyalties lie?' _he asked himself. Ultimately his loyalties were with Camelot and his father, but surely Merlin deserved something. He couldn't not answer and therefore condemn the loyal servant to another flogging; his conscience would bug him for the rest of his life if he did.

"Do you believe that your father is justified?" came the eventual question. All Arthur could do was stare at him; this was not the kind of questioning he had been anticipating. He didn't need to ask what Ragley was talking about though.

"In the hunting of your kin? It is not mine to reason why. I will always serve the king," he answered as honestly as he could. In truth he wanted to yell and rant at the bandit about how he no right to question his father's actions, but something told him that the end of this path only ended in Merlin's suffering. So he held his tongue.

"That is not what I asked. I'm no fool Arthur Pendragon, make no mistake. I am aware that you will serve your king to the death, but what I asked was whether you truly agreed to all his... beliefs," he hunted for a word that fit.

"I believe that he believes he is doing the right thing for Camelot, and I trust him to be right." Again it took the prince several moments to find the right words to convey his opinion, whilst trying to avoid the ire of his captor. "The only experiences I have ever had with magic is of evil sorcerers trying to destroy the kingdom. What would you have me believe?"

"Has it never occurred to you Pendragon that any sorcerer who doesn't want to destroy the kingdom would remain hidden to stay alive? If your father knew of anyone who used magic, regardless of what they used it for, they would be put to death." Arthur squirmed slightly under the gaze that fell on him.

His whole life he had been taught to believe that magic was the worst sin, and it could corrupt even the purest of spirits. Anyone he had encountered with magic had rapidly sought to bring about his downfall. Over the last few months he had been considering the alternatives to his father's beliefs, but nothing he came up with made sense. To his complete surprise the words of this bandit, who had hurt his friend, were getting under his skin.

'_What if? What if there was someone out there, who had magic, and yet was not the bitter and angry soul that I imagine?' _The question reverberated through his head for several minutes.

"You asked me before what I wanted. And to some extent I told you. But what I really want is _her _back. I don't care about you, or your father, or any of Camelot. I care about her." His voice had dropped into the same sadness that Arthur had recognised in the tent. It was the same sadness he heard in his father's voice whenever the king had to speak of Ygraine.

"Your wife." He stated quietly, and he didn't miss the way the man flinched slightly.

"I know that you believe I'm a heartless man. And I guess you'd be right; I gave her my heart, but I lost her. And thanks to your father I could not even mourn for her properly, or risk burning at the stake myself. As the prince you are welcome to speak your mind about anything without fear, but for the commoners it is not so. Had I said the things I wanted to say, I would have been executed without a moment's thought."

"Even if I told you that my father is wrong, and that I hold no grudge against magic, there is nothing that I can do to change what happened. No matter what power was gifted to me, I cannot rewrite time," the prince struggled not to let the pity he was unwillingly feeling bleed into his tone.

"I know that!" Ragley snapped. "But I ask you, and I expect an honest answer-" his voice dropped threateningly, "-if you had lost someone you loved more than anything else in the world, would you not wish to avenge their murder?"

"My father believed that she had broken the laws-" he was cut off.

"Answer me!" Ragley commanded, and for half a second a kind of madness flashed across his face. Arthur looked at him steadily for a moment, breathing in the smells of the camp, his thoughts miles away in Camelot, hovering over Uther and, of course, his Gwen.

In all his life he had never even tried to consider the situation being presented, and now that he was, he found he didn't like it. In his mind the laws of Camelot were the basis for everything he tried to protect, and if he answered the question honestly then all of his conviction in them would fail. And he couldn't bear it. Like a madman, his thoughts flashed from the image of Gwen's face, to the ideas of his father, and then in horror to the image of her - his love, his life - being sentenced to burn. He immediately forced the image away roughly, conjuring all the thoughts the sorcerers who had tried to end Camelot. Eventually, all he could say was:

"I can't answer that."

Ragley stared at him intently. "I think that, deep down, you know that you just did." A part of Arthur's mind rebelled at the accusation.

"Regardless, I wouldn't do what you have done! You tortured an innocent boy, to teach the son of the man you truly hate a lesson. It's a bit of a strange way to get revenge." He pointed out, then bit his tongue immediately. Then to his utter confusion and surprise, the bandit laughed.

"You would rather I went after your father?"

"No, that's not what-"

"Or maybe just attack the city?"

"No-"

"In case you hadn't noticed Pendragon, I might lead a group of men, but to take on Camelot is no mean feat. Your knights are legendary." There was a lack of venom in his tone that surprised the prince. Indeed there was almost a hint of awe.

"Who are you?" He asked, without thinking it through. The bandit's face closed fractionally, but none of the hatred flared up again. He seemed calmer now, and Arthur was relieved. A calm bandit meant less servant beating.

"I have no more questions for now. Return to your tent. Or don't, but know that if you wander, _someone _will regret it." There was no point arguing, and Arthur was sure that if he opened his mouth it would only be to hurl abuse at the man, so he turned and walked away without further comment.

**..**

When the prince entered the tent once more, Merlin let out an audible sigh of relief. Only now that they were in danger did he notice how much he panicked when he realised he couldn't set eyes on Arthur. His mind constantly worried itself stupid:

'_What if the clot pole has gotten himself killed?' _It seemed however, that his worry was unfounded.

"Are you alright?" The warlock asked, scanning the prince who had yet to do much other than stand in the doorway.

"I was going to say the same thing," he mumbled, wandering into the tent and dropping to the ground soundlessly. If only Merlin could move like his prince, then hunting would be much easier.

"What did he ask you?"

"I'm not really sure." Merlin snorted.

"You must have listened well," he commented, a smile twitching his mouth upwards.

"Says the idiot who never listens to a word I say," Arthur shot back, smiling himself. His servant seemed slightly more at ease than before, and the pain had faded to the back of his eyes. The prince had barely been able to stand the agony that had bled from the cerulean orbs when he had left the tent.

"Even idiots don't have to listen to prats. Not even royal ones." He stated, his grin spoiling his mock seriousness.

"Well, for your information _Mer_lin, as a citizen of Camelot, by law you are meant to do as I say."

"Maybe the laws are wrong," he suggested, joking. The prince's face changed, and all of a sudden he looked uncertain. His eyes dropped from his servant's face, inspecting the toe of his boot intently, his hands unconsciously worrying the fabric on his trousers. "Arthur?" Merlin asked quietly, after a moment, completely nonplussed as to what had caused the sudden mood swing.

"Do you ever think Merlin, that maybe..." He trailed off slightly, then took a deep breath and held it. "That maybe the laws are... not suited for every situation?" Merlin just blinked in confusion.

"I don't understand," he said after trying to decipher the question. Arthur looked up at him, his eyes clouding with emotions that his friend couldn't read.

"No Merlin," his said after a moment, his voice twisted with his heavy heart. "Neither do I."

**..**

_Ok, so that was a really short one, sorry! Another longer one is in the works, I promise. This just seemed like a good place to end it._

_This chapter was a b*tch to write. I was trying to get across Ragley's unresolved issues with his wife's death etc, Arthur's confusion, coupled with his concern for Merlin and his ultimate loyalty to Camelot. I was going to have him questioned on Camelot's defences, but my muse refused to work with me, so it ended up a weird thought provoking thing instead. I no longer have any idea where I'm going with this..._

_**Read me please :) **__In case you hadn't noticed some of my grammar in this story is awful! I hadn't even noticed until a few days ago, when I read through one of the chapters and was like :O So. I need a beta :) if anyone wants to do that, it would be amazing. Although, you might have to explain the system to me, cause I've not had a beta before. _

_So, I'm going to stop blathering. I hope you enjoyed the chapter :)_


	9. Chapter 9

_Err... I'm really sorry? I know that I've been gone for forever. I don't even have a great excuse, which just makes me feel terrible. I hope you're all still reading :)_

_Also: __**VHunter07 **__Thank you! I would love it if you could beta for me! I have no idea however, to actually enable you to do so. Little help?_

**..**

Merlin liked to think that he knew his master fairly well. He also believed that his knowledge and understanding of the laws regarding magic in Camelot were superior to most people's. And so as soon as he grasped that his master was contemplating the flaws in his own legal system, to say he was taken aback would be an understatement.

'_What if he really means this? What if... Maybe the time – my time - is coming?' _The hope that Merlin was desperately trying to crush was bleeding into his thoughts. _'No, I can't think that. Come on Merlin, be rational. Arthur's been kidnapped _because _of magic. He's not going to forgive it now.' _He cursed the people who had done this. Was the whole world really against him fulfilling his destiny? It seemed that whenever his prince left the citadel he was attacked by some form of magical creature/sorcerer/sorceress/someone who thought magic was a good thing. It really wasn't helping.

A memory popped into his head before he could force it down. His master's voice filled his head, the words grateful. They lashed at his heart harder than the whip had ever been able to.

"_I am indebted to you Merlin. I had become... confused. It is once again clear to me that those who practise magic are evil and dangerous, and that is thanks to you."_

_It took every ounce of strength that he had, every moment of practising acting like he was the most plain, unmagical person in the world, to look up at the prince and force a smile._

"_Glad I could help." The smile slipped off his face as soon as the prince looked away; He hadn't the heart to keep it plastered there. He was surprised that Arthur couldn't hear his world crashing down around him. It seemed remarkably loud to him._

He crushed the memory before his mind could take it further, to the days afterwards where he had to repeatedly draw on that false smile to divert uneasy questions, to the many, many sleepless nights listening for the sounds of the guards footsteps, and then to the dreams that always appeared whenever Arthur completely rejected magic. Those dreams, nightmares, had been haunting him more and more often; the ones where Arthur smiled down at his pyre, before watching him go down as a traitor, the life burned out of him.

In this one conversation, the prince had completely upturned everything Merlin had thought.

"What did Ragley _say_?" He asked in wonder. Arthur just shrugged and began to pace the tent again, losing himself in his own musings. The warlock disliked the quiet. It allowed him to think, to turn himself in circles over this new revelation, to worry himself stupid over their current situation, and worst of all, the pain crept back as soon as his mind was free to acknowledge it. "You know, now probably isn't the time to be worry about this," he pointed out bluntly, needing the distraction.

"Well, it's better than thinking about everything else, in case you hadn't noticed," Arthur snapped sharply. Merlin flinched.

"You think I hadn't?" He hissed back, acid and hurt leaching into his voice. How dare he suggest that he was oblivious to the fact that their lives hung in the balance. The wounds on his back should be testament enough.

His tone had Arthur staring down at him in surprise, before he realised his own words. His eyes closed briefly as the guilt washed over him.

"Of course you have. I'm sorry," he repented. Merlin threw a grim smile his way, a gesture of peace. "I just... I don't understand any of this. I hate not knowing what's happening."

"I know. Trust me I understand. Look, I've been thinking..." His eyes dropped to the floor, and Arthur knew him well enough to see that he was struggling to approach a difficult topic. "We can't stay here." The prince had some idea where this was going.

"I'm just going to stop you right there, Merlin. If this has _anything _to do with trying to run again, count me out." His eyes blazed fire and the warlock resigned himself to having an argument.

"Arthur. For once in your life, I need you to listen to me. I'm aware that you can be a bit dull witted at times, but you have to concentrate." Arthur sent a half hearted glare in his direction, but said nothing. He would listen, and the he would disregard Merlin entirely. "I've told you something similar before, but your life is worth a thousand of mine. I'm just a servant. You are the future king of Camelot, and that means that it's your job to defend my home, and all of my friends. If they are to be defended, you cannot be stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, because you were unwilling to risk me. I don't care about me. I care about Camelot, and I guess by some round-about route, that must mean that I have to care for you too." Arthur smiled lightly in acknowledgement. It was the closest they could come verbally to admitting their friendship without the situation becoming unbearably awkward. "I'm _painfully _aware of the fact that I can't go anywhere. I can't summon the strength to stand at the moment, but you can. Your shoulder is infected. I know you were trying to hide it, but I live with a physician remember? You need medical attention-"

"Says the boy who can't stand," Arthur retorted, then shut his mouth as Merlin's eyes spat sparks.

"You need Gaius," he continued. "Please, Arthur, I'm begging you. Please, _please, _get yourself out of here." His eyes bled with the sincerity of what he was saying. The prince was struck again with the knowledge that Merlin would willingly give his life for him. It was scary and touching in equal measure.

"If I leave here, if I manage to get away, or even if I don't, Ragley will _kill _you, Merlin. I'm not about to let that happen. The knights will be looking for us. They'll get us out of here."

"Arthur..." Merlin grimaced. He had known that the prince wouldn't listen to him easily, but his bone headed determination was stronger – and more irritating – than he had originally thought.

"No. It's my turn to speak, _Mer_lin, so you're going to listen to me for once. You can tell me over and over that my life is worth more than yours, but you're never going to convince me, so save your breath. There is _no way _that I'm leaving you at the mercy of these animals. Even a servant as useless as you doesn't deserve that." He grinned to soften the insult. Merlin couldn't bring himself to smile back, he was too worried about the determined prat in front of him.

"You are of course aware that if you stay here and get yourself hurt, as soon as we return to Camelot, Gaius will guilt trip me and Uther will throw me in the stocks for a month. Trust me, this is a selfish thing as much as anything else." That was an utter lie – the last part anyway – and Arthur could tell. Merlin never had quite grasped the art of lying – he found his attempts rather endearing.

"And since when do I indulge you in such matters?" He pointed out with a cheeky grin, before sinking to the floor beside his servant. Merlin sighed, realising that there was little point in pushing for anything more, for now at least.

"You are _such _a prat sometimes," he pointed out, his tone annoyed.

"At least I'm not an idiot."

"If you were so smart you would be gone by now," he pointed out petulantly, and the prince briefly considered finding something to throw at him.

"How do you feel?" His voice dropped with concern that he hadn't the heart to hide.

"Stiff. I want to move, but that really wouldn't be a good idea," Merlin told him honestly. "The talking is helping."

"I will fix this, I promise. This never should have happened and-" The warlock had to butt in.

"Arthur."

"Yes?"

"Shut _up._" The prince blinked in shock. "How many times do I have to tell you that this is not your fault before it gets into that thick skull of yours? I don't blame you. At all. I don't want your apologies. I don't even want you to 'fix this' whatever that means, because it will probably end in you almost getting yourself killed; I mean, let's face it, when do _any _of your plans not end up like that?" Arthur opened his mouth to disagree and then slammed it shut. The boy had a point.

"I still don't understand you Merlin," he said quietly after a minute. "You don't..." He searched for words. "React to things like anyone else. I've never known anyone like you." The warlock averted his eyes; now was not the time to be delving into his actions and mannerisms.

"Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome."

**..**

The prince looked down at his sleeping servant, thoughts racing around his head and making him dizzy. He knew that the boy had been right when he had said that Arthur needed medical attention, but what Merlin had failed to acknowledge was that he was in need of it more.

As a battle hardened warrior, he had seen his fair share of wounds and more besides. And Merlin's scared him. There was a red tightness to the unbroken skin, and the gashes formed by the lash of the whip were weeping a vile yellow substance. Infection.

"Oh, Merlin," he sighed. His voice was soft; it wouldn't disturb the slumbering boy.

When he slept, Merlin looked unbelievably innocent. The tense line to his shoulders, that never seemed to leave him, faded, and his face was relaxed and calm. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes flickered in peaceful dreams.

"What are we going to do?" He muttered to himself, for the first time allowing the helplessness he felt to cover his tone. Now that there was no one in the vicinity that he had to pretend for, he decided that it was alright to let himself fall apart.

He could see no way out of this situation. He held a great amount of respect for his knights, and he trusted them to the death; the only problem was that the forests surrounding Camelot were vast, and they could be anywhere. It could take days, weeks even, to find them. And neither Merlin nor the prince had that time. Arthur couldn't feel much of the entire left side of his torso, and he had long since lost the ability to move his fingers. He was almost positive that if he unravelled the bandages around his shoulder then he would see a similar infection to the one he could see raging across his servant's back.

Merlin stirred slightly, twitching at his dreams. A small moan escaped him, and a few disjointed words tumbled from his mouth, causing the prince to look down in astonishment. He'd never known the boy to talk in his sleep.

"Protect..." He muttered, flinching and shifting, the movement eliciting an involuntary groan of pain before he stilled. Arthur moved closer to listen, intrigued. "Didn't want... Lie... Please..." The words didn't make any sense to the prince, but he struggled to try and put them together anyway. "Arthur..." The prince's head shot up, but the sleeping warlock had fallen silent. Merlin was dreaming about _him? _That didn't make sense.

He had the sudden urge to wake his friend and demand to know what he had been dreaming, but then he reminded himself that the sleep was sparing the suffering boy from further pain.

'_I'll ask him in the morning,' _he decided with a cunning smile.

He started to phrase questions in his mind, wondering what his servant's reaction would be, and for a few moments at least, he was happy.

**..**

_A rather abrupt ending, sorry. I couldn't think of anything better. I know that this chapter isn't all that great and the wait has been awful, I'm really sorry. I'll try and make it up to you. I'm not sure how yet, but this one is determined :)_

_I know this one was a little heavy in parts, it will liven up soon. I swear :P_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello, how are you all? I hope you're all good. Sorry for the massive delays on this chapter, writing just fell to the bottom of my list of things to do._

_On a better note, this story is now beta-ed by the wonderful __**VHunter07 **__so for once this chapter actually makes legible sense. Many thanks, and I hope you all enjoy it._

**..**

"How did you sleep?" The serving boy's head shot up at the question. So many things about it were wrong. First, Arthur was inquiring about his general well being. Second, there was a cunning lilt to the words, as though he was plotting something. Merlin would recognise that tone from a mile away, and it instantly put him on the alert.

"Well enough. Did you sleep at all?" He tried to direct the conversation away from himself and onto Arthur. The bags under his hazy blue eyes spoke volumes. The prince sent him a knowing look, aware that he was dodging the aim of this encounter.

"Did you know, Merlin, that you speak in your sleep?" Very carefully, the blonde watched the warlock's reaction. Merlin's muscles locked tight, his breath caught in his throat, his eyes automatically flashed to the floor to hide the emotions pouring through him. He knew what dream had poured through his head in the night; it was his nightmare, his personal hell. It was  
>exactly the kind of thing that Arthur could never know.<p>

"Really?" His voice was too high with stress, and noticeably worried.

"Yes," the prince said simply, then fell silent, enjoying watching his servant squirm under his gaze. When it became clear that Merlin wouldn't, or couldn't speak, he elaborated. "You were saying some very strange things."

"Like?"

"Like my name. A lot. Something about lying?" Merlin's eyes flashed to his face and away, the genuine fear there shocked the prince. He had assumed that whatever the boy had been dreaming about had been inconsequential, but it was obvious now that this was something important.

"I don't know what it could be, Sire," he lied valiantly. The prince saw through it in an instant.

"You don't call me 'Sire' unless you want something or you're lying. I highly doubt that you're using this opportunity to ask for a day off, so you must be lying. Come on, Merlin, you can tell me," he said with a grin. He received an acidic glare in response.

"Fine. I don't know what it could be, prat." He muttered. His face was flushed slightly under the pressure.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed. An amused smile crept onto his face despite his best efforts to keep it hidden. He didn't want his servant to know that he was actually enjoying this little exchange. "Are you going to tell me what you were dreaming about or not?"

"I'm not," Merlin confirmed, his voice like ice. Arthur's gaze darkened.

"Well, so long as you don't really believe that you need to protect me..." He taunted. It was something that he had gathered from the late night mutterings. Sure enough, Merlin's face glowed red with embarrassment.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to eavesdrop on people?" He demanded, chagrined.

"I am the prince, Merlin, I can do what I want," he reminded him. "Including listening to you prattle on. I always said that you never shut up. Now I have proof."

"You are such a clotpole sometimes!" His voice held only a fond exasperation. It was obvious that the prince hadn't heard anything too groundbreaking, thus relief was pumping strong through the warlock's system.

"You two amaze me," a new voice informed them, and the relief fled as Merlin recognised the newcomer as Ragley. Arthur stiffened, and leapt off the ground, rising and to put himself between their captor and his servant.

"You don't expect me to uphold my word?" The bandit inquired, eyeing the distance between  
>the prince and Merlin, intrigued.<p>

"In truth? Not in the slightest. Kidnapping and torturing innocent people will do that." The prince spat. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Even if his current position of magic was confused there was no such vacillation regarding Ragley. He loathed this man. No matter the reasoning that he held, it was no excuse for what had been done to his servant...his friend. Ragley's face twisted into a mask of anger, and a black rage pooled in his eyes. The prince's muscles all simultaneously snapped taut as he braced himself to defend Merlin. However, the bandit made no move towards either of them, sending only a menacing glare in their direction.

"You should know that we have received word from your precious Camelot. They will pay your ransom," he looked meaningfully at the prince.

"I thought you told me that this was about sending a message. That money had nothing to do with it."

"It is not the money that will send the message. It is the way in which the transaction is handled that will speak to the world."The malicious gleam in the man's eyes had Merlin quaking on the ground. Something bad was going to happen, of that much he was certain.

"You said that they would pay my ransom," Arthur said, a thought occurring to him. "What about Merlin?"

"We have no interest in the boy. He has little worth to people like me; keep him." Ragley said offhandedly. The warlock let out a silent sigh of relief. For a moment he had been terrified that they wouldn't let him go. He wouldn't put it past them to kill him, just to spite Arthur. Merlin might have  
>accepted that he was more than likely going to die for the prince, but he'd hoped to at least see him as king first.<p>

"What are you planning?" The warlock demanded, ignoring Arthur's glare to keep quiet. Ragley observed him curiously. "Any fool can see that you aren't planning on just letting us go. You admitted that this wasn't about money, so there is something else you're after. You want the king to suffer, and so you took Arthur. Give him back and you know that you'll be hunted down and slaughtered, and the king will never think of you again." As he spoke, Merlin recognised the truth in his words and the conclusion of his thoughts. "You want to spill Pendragon blood," he said suddenly. The feeling of truth filled him. "The message you send will be in the death of Uther."

"Give your servant a pat on the back!" Ragley said with a smile, knowing full well the state of the warlock's back. He enjoyed the sick joke. Arthur wasn't sure which man he wanted to glower at most. He really needed to teach Merlin when to shut up.

"So you intend to harm my father. What was your reason for taking me then?" he inquired, eyebrows rising.

"There is only one way I know of to... encourage our beloved king to leave his citadel. And that is his beloved son."

"The king himself is delivering your ransom?" Merlin asked in utter astonishment. The  
>bandit grinned victoriously.<p>

"We were able to persuade him to do so. It would appear that he really does care about his own kin. I must admit, I was surprised," he taunted. Arthur had to resist the urge to start throwing punches, knowing full well Ragley was attempting to force him into doing something stupid enough to endanger Merlin.

"Well, this talk has been fascinating, but I must go. Kings to kill and all." Without another word the bandit swept from the tent. Slowly, the prince sank back to the floor, trying to stop his hands  
>trembling. Concern for his father overwhelmed him, fearful that Ragley would make good on his threat.<p>

"Arthur." His name barely penetrated through his haze of terror. "Arthur. Listen to me!" Merlin was trying desperately to get his attention, but without being able to move, it was proving difficult. He gathered the energy he had built up over the last few hours and was able to half crawl, half drag  
>himself across the ground to his prince, where he proceeded to prod him in the arm.<p>

Arthur jumped wildly, looking at him in shock. "Merlin! How did you get over here?"

"Through the magic of movement Arthur," Merlin deadpanned, struggling to regain the breath that he had used in moving.

"You shouldn't be doing anything at all, you idiot. You'll make your back worse!" As the prince spoke, he moved around his servant to survey the wounds on his back. They were still covered by the improvised bandages, but the cloth was dirty and in placed blood had begun to seep through. Peeling back one of the wraps, Arthur inspected the gash beneath it. He had to hold back a gasp of horror. All thoughts of his father and Camelot fled in that moment, as his mind centred directly on his servant. The wound was weeping profusely, and the flesh was a vicious red. The very edges of the gash were a slight bluish grey, as though the tissue had died. It looked horrendous. Arthur had seen seasoned knights and soldiers die from far less.

Merlin, for his part, was now struggling with consciousness. He hadn't really had the strength to do what he had done, and in retrospect, it had been a stupid risk. The movement of his bandages had done nothing for the pain that had now ignited the entirety of his back, and he fought to breathe through the fire. Pain like he had never felt before wracked his entire body, and he couldn't hold back a slight whimper. Somewhere near him, someone was calling his name, but it was too distant to make out clearly, and he was too tired to care.

_'Let me sleep. Let me be at peace,'_ he wished. It was almost a prayer. It was the last clear thought in his head, before he was overrun with darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

_The only way I can justify the delay for this chapter is that I was ill and felt really *insert swear word of choice here* and really couldn't muster the energy to write. If it helps, had I written this chapter a week ago it would have ended up a death fic. Unless you guys all want a death fic, in which case I'm all too happy to oblige._

_Again, wonderful thanks to my beta __**VHunter07**__, for her amazing work!_

**..**

Arthur rocked himself back and forth in a manner that was most unbefitting a prince. At this stage, he truly didn't care. His unconscious manservant lay by his side, his breaths wheezing in and out of his frail frame with an uneven rhythm.

'_This is all my fault. Merlin is dying and this is my fault.' _The thoughts continuously rioted through his brain, scattering all other worries, including the impending doom of Camelot. He was too distracted to contemplate when Merlin had become equal to his kingdom in his list of priorities.

For hours now the prince had sat in silence, worrying years off his life. It wasn't like he had much else to do; Arthur had always been a man of action and this state of helplessness was a hand which he'd never before been dealt.

When he heard movement outside their tent he was almost relieved. The feeling evaporated instantly when four bandits forced themselves into the tight space and moved forwards to grab the two of them. The prince's hand automatically grasped for his sword and feeling nothing but air, threw himself at the man closest to him. Arthur might have been Camelot's finest fighter, but he had numbers, fatigue and a wounded shoulder working against him, and it only took a few well placed punches to set him straight. Two bandits secured his arms, and the others grabbed Merlin's limp form, hauling him partially upright and allowing his legs to trail.

Even in the depths of unconsciousness, the movement drew a moan of pain from the injured boy. The prince tried to free himself, but he was held fast. He was panting with outrage and exertion as he was dragged out from under the canvas. Blinking into the sudden light, he took a brief glance around, his trained eyes taking in everything.

It would seem that whatever was happening, all the bandits wished to be a part of it. They had gathered in their masses, and the prince was amazed by the sheer number of them.

'_How did they pass undetected through our forests?' _He thought before vaguely recalling reports of missing patrols. No survivors tended to mean no news.

"So little prince, it would appear that the time has come." Ragley's voice was obnoxiously gleeful, and Arthur wished he could punch the smug smile right off his face, but the bandit's leader had cleverly placed himself within arm's reach of Merlin.

"You will never succeed," the prince retorted adamantly.

"Of course we will. We have you, and the king would order his own execution to see you live. When it comes to Camelot, the crowned prince is the most valuable bargaining chip one can ever own."

"You do not _own _me," Arthur hissed furiously. "And you will not kill my father." Ragley's only response was a snort of derision and a nod at one of the men holding him. The beefy man's fist sunk into his stomach, and the prince doubled over as the air rushed out of him.

"Next time, that will be your servant," Ragley warned. The two men guarding him yanked him forwards, but he strained, trying to keep his servant within his line of sight.

They weren't walking for long, no more than ten minutes before stopping again. Arthur and Merlin were cast to the ground, a few bandits hovering around them to keep them from running. Deciding it was better to play the docile captive he made no attempt to fight back moving to his servant's side instead.

Merlin's skin was almost grey, his breathing harsh and erratic, and beneath closed lids his eyes were flickering wildly. The bandages covering his back had been loosened by the movement and most had bled through. Arthur hardly dared to peel back one, terrified of what he might see. Gathering his courage and steeling himself, he forced himself to look and was almost sick on the spot.

The flesh around the wound was a grotesque shade of grey and the blood that still wept from the gashes – '_seriously, how much can someone as small as Merlin bleed?' _– mixing with the yellow puss. Even if they got back to Camelot now Arthur was beginning to think that it might be too late. He hated himself for thinking it, but he had to be practical now or they would both end up dead.

'"_You must focus on the facts Arthur. You will never be able to rule as king if you let yourself be swayed by emotions or prejudice. No matter how hard it is, you must always face the truth."' _They were words that his father had told him when he was very young. Though he rarely stayed true to their mantra he never forgot them. As he had grown older, he had formed his own ideas, and since meeting Merlin, he had realised that following your heart was sometimes the better option.

"Oh, Merlin," he sighed quietly before replacing the bandages, and rolling the servant onto his side so that he could breath easily. The movement seemed to stir him lightly and he frowned.

"Ar...ur," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"I'm here, Merlin," his voice was steadier than he had expected.

"It hurts," he whimpered, his body starting to tremble. Arthur found himself missing the unconsciousness that spared him the pain.

"I know. But we'll be back in Camelot soon and Gaius can make the pain go away." The false hope in his voice sounded too fake to be convincing but Merlin didn't seem to notice.

"Your shoulder..." his voice trailed off, and Arthur felt himself fill with an emotion he couldn't name. If he was feeling poetic he would call it brotherly love. The idiot was slipping away, and he was still worrying about the prince's health. Selfless fool.

"Bring the prince and his pet," Ragley's voice penetrated Arthur's bubble and once again he was hauled to his feet and dragged forward. Behind him, Merlin shriek of agony with movement sent him spiralling into panic.

"Merlin!" He shouted behind him, but he received no response from the servant.

"Gag him." Ragley grinned manically as Arthur struggled against his captors. A scrap of vile material was forced into his mouth and tightened behind his head; the taste was foul and more worryingly it prevented his best method of warning his father about their schemes.

Glaring at his captors, Arthur had to concede his defeat. He was out numbered and even if he was uninjured and there was no threat against Merlin, he couldn't hope to escape on his own.

"Remember this day, my _prince_, though I doubt you will regret your father's death."

"Murder!" Arthur tried to correct, but the gag muffled the word so it was barely coherent. It would seem that Ragley heard anyway.

"I prefer to think of it as mercy. The kingdom will rejoice our actions and Camelot will at last be free!"

"You fool." The voice made both men look round in surprise. Merlin couldn't take his own weight, and was resting completely in the arms of his captives, but he was summoning the strength to talk. "Even if your plan works, all you will do is bring war to Camelot. Without a king we will all fall," he injected wisely.

Within the privacy of his own mind the prince wondered at the enigma that was his servant. One minute he would be dishing out the best advice and the next he would be falling over his own feet.

"What would you know of politics?" Ragley scoffed at him.

"Prince's servant," Merlin reminded him. "I spend more time in court than most nobles." This was probably true, Arthur reflected.

"Then my men and I will take control."

"And the knights will never swear allegiance and your kingdom will have fallen within the week. Face it, this plan of yours is only going to cause more suffering. Is that what your wife would want for you?" This was clearly the wrong thing to say, and within a moment, the bandit was in Merlin's face, screaming all the profanities he had ever learned.

"How _dare _you speak to me of _her! _You will pay for your audacity you pathetic fool!" Even Arthur was flinching at the pure venom in that tone, whilst the warrior within him reared his head. Ragley's hands clenched into fists and he sent them flying towards the defenceless boy, just as the prince was able to yank himself from the grasps of the men holding him. Throwing himself towards their leader he knocked him to the ground, landing punches before Ragley could work out what was happening.

Hands grabbed his shoulder, pressing agonisingly against his wound and yanking him backwards. His vision was red with rage quavering around the edges.

"You should not have done that," Ragley's voice was low and deadly. Dangerous. In a flash there was a sword in his hand and he was advancing on the servant, who didn't have the energy to break free and run. His consciousness was slipping as it was but he clung on desperately.

'_If I am to die here, I want to see the blow that kills me. To know that this is inevitable.' _He was too tired to feel any further panic. He had done his best, tried to shield Arthur as best he could, normally taking the blows for him, then having to hide the pain. He didn't mind though; this was the story that destiny had chosen for him and who was he to try and prevent the course of events? Every time he had tried he had only left a battlefield in his wake, though he never had the honour of lying amongst the dead himself. That was the part that killed him: Will, Freya, Balinor, they had all died in his name. And thanks to Uther and his hatred, they would never receive any honour or glory for their actions.

He watched the sword swing towards him, surprised that there was no longer any fear. It was nice though, a peaceful end to a chaotic life.

A final thought drifted into his mind, and it bothered him more that his own ending did:

'_What'll happen to Arthur?'_

**..**

_So, that's quite a horrible ending. Sorry. Also sorry for the horrible update time._

_Oh, by the way, this story isn't over, don't worry. I'm not quite done yet... Until next time. _


	12. Chapter 12

_I greatly apologise to __**VHunter07 **__for not sending this her way, but I wanted this out for Christmas as a present to you all, but I only actually wrote it this morning. So any mistakes are mine, and feel free to call me on them._

**..**

Arthur wasn't sure what was happening. Or to be more exact, he knew exactly what was going on, but his mind couldn't quite accept it. What he was sure of was that the image of Ragley swinging the blade down towards his servant would scar him for the rest of his days. His heart was hammering in his chest, and each breath burned through his torso, though he paid little attention. The focus of everyone in the clearing was on the two figures in the centre.

He was screaming, the prince realised, openly pleading for Ragley to stop, to let him live. Anything for Merlin to live. His shouts were having no effect though, and his entire being twisted in fear.

When the blow came, it wasn't what anyone had expected, and for a split second all anyone could do was stare mindlessly, mouths open in shock. A bolt from a crossbow was embedded in Ragley's chest, the fletching quivering as the bandit tried to draw breath. He gurgled, blood filling his airways, and he turned his gaze to the prince, even as his legs gave why beneath him. The prince could only interpret the look to mean something along the lines of _'how did you do that?' _before the once leader crumpled to the ground completely and was still. A strange silence enveloped the clearing. No one was sure what had just happened, and now there was no leader for them to turn to.

Then the entire atmosphere was shattered. Arrows started raining down from every direction with deadly accuracy. The bandits were dropping like flies, but the remaining few had grown wiser and were seeking cover a fast as they could manage, leaving Arthur and Merlin unguarded. Without even hesitating, the prince sprinted to his servant's side, grabbing his arm and hauling the slim boy over his uninjured shoulder. As soon as he was sure he wouldn't drop his burden, Arthur was running again, taking the most direct route out of the clearing, away from their captors, trusting the arrows to distract them sufficiently to not follow.

Almost as soon as he had cleared the tree line, he was cut off by a line of soldiers, and for half a second he tensed, ready to turn and flee – knowing fighting was well beyond him at this stage – but then he recognised their armour. Camelot.

The relief that hit him was enough to drive him to his knees, and it took everything he had not to pass out then and there. But he was still holding his servant, and he needed to ensure his safety first.

"Sire?" One of the soldiers rushed forward, reaching out to support him. Another stepped out of the line to try and take Merlin, but the prince held on fiercely. Once he was sure he wouldn't hit the floor again, he forced himself upright, taking a tentative step forwards.

"My father? Where's the king?" His voice slipped back into command naturally. It was a slight comfort to know that he hadn't lost that.

"He is on the western side of the clearing Sire. He will be here momentarily," one of the men informed him, dipping his head in subservience. Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, trying not to stagger as a new wave of nausea hit. He could almost feel the poison of the infection raging through his bloodstream and knew it could be a thousand times worse for Merlin. The boy was suspiciously silent and still, though Arthur was relatively sure he was still at least semi conscious.

"Arthur!" The booming voice of the king rang out, and the prince looked up to see his father striding towards him, his expression carefully schooled into a calm facade. Arthur allowed a small smile to grace his lips when he saw his father was unharmed.

"Sire," he responded respectfully, dipping his head, then having to blink as blood rushed to his brain and his eyesight faltered. The king saw his discomfort, and immediately turned to a soldier.

"Bring our horses. We ride for Camelot. Tell the men to finish here, before returning."

"Their camp is in that direction," Arthur supplied, indicating as well as he could with an injured arm. "About ten minutes walk. Most of their men came to the clearing with us, but some may have stayed behind."

The soldier nodded, before dashing off in the other direction.

"Are you hurt?" The king asked when they were out of earshot of the others. The genuine concern in his voice was rare, and Arthur felt a rush of affection for his father.

"My shoulder is infected, but it's not too bad. Merlin's injuries are worse." Uther's eyes grazed over the serving boy, flickering with something like sympathy.

"Gaius will be able to tend to you both when we return. I'm sure one of the guards can carry the boy," he hinted, about to gesture one of them forward.

"It's fine father. I-" he cut himself off, searching for the words. "He's been hurt protecting me. I'm... unwilling to let him out of my sight for now." The king gave him a look as though he was worried that his son had gone mad, but he said no more about it.

The horses were brought to them, and Uther personally helped Arthur lever Merlin over the back of the animal before the prince settled himself in the saddle.

The ride to Camelot seemed long and painful, each movement of the horse sending agony through the prince. At some stage, the pain had overwhelmed Merlin and he had lost all grip with reality and was lost in a painless slumber. Arthur wasn't entirely sure whether to be happy he was free of the pain, or worried that he seemed to be slipping away. He spent most of the journey varying between the two.

The king was content to ride in silence, recognising that his son was far away. Arthur knew it would never last; soon he would have to recount everything that had happened, relive everything. He didn't know if he could stand it.

When the spires and towers of his home came into view, Arthur felt a savage grin light his face. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that it was over. That he was finally free, and both he and Merlin were still alive. It was _over. _The relief was so sweet he could almost taste it, and when they rode through the gates, the people on the streets let out a great cheer of joy.

Somewhere people were spreading the news that the prince had returned, and the crowds on the streets multiplied into great array of cheering citizens. It warmed Arthur's heart to see how much the people cared. This would always be his home, and it was here that he would always return.

Once they reached the courtyard, servants rushed forwards, taking the reins, helping the obviously wounded prince off his mount, as well as carefully taking Merlin down too. This time Arthur let them; he doubted that he had the strength to support him anymore.

"Arthur, I must speak to the council. Go to Gaius and let him tend to you. I will find you when I can."

"Yes father," he answered, before turning and following the servants who were carrying Merlin away.

**..**

Gaius eyed Arthur's wounds with shrewd speculation.

"When did you receive this, sire?" He asked, carefully rotating the prince's arm to see the level of movement.

"When I was captured. Please Gaius, I'll be fine. You need to look after Merlin." The old physician didn't even glance at his ward. Seeming him still and pale hurt almost too much to bear.

"I have a duty to you sire, before anyone else," he muttered, even while he yearned to help Merlin.

"You have a duty to do what I say Gaius. And I'm telling you to look after Merlin. He needs your aid far more than I for now." For a second, Gaius did nothing, weighing the options, then with a sigh, he hurried to his ward's side.

It was common knowledge that he had grown to love the boy as a son, and even though they had fought, it was all but forgotten now. Gaius would always forgive Merlin, for anything he did, simply because he would always deserve it. He had to sacrifice so much for his destiny, that the physician felt he had to make his life as easy as possible. For someone so young, Merlin had known so much suffering, and yet he wasn't bitter. When the world raged at him, all he did was smile back and keep going. It was a bravery only seen in a few special people, and Gaius was in awe of his ward for it. Not that he told him, he didn't need the boy getting a big head.

Even a physician as experienced as Gaius would shudder at the sight of Merlin's back. Behind him Arthur gasped quietly, and muttered a curse. Getting straight to work, Gaius set about cleaning the wounds, applying poultice after poultice to clear the infections, as well as suppress the pain. Every now and then, Merlin stirred slightly, mumbling, but he never woke up completely.

The day was almost finished by the time Gaius wrapped bandages around his ward, before covering him with a blanket and leaving him to rest. Arthur, who had done his best to stay attentive, had lost his battle and was dozing quietly in a chair on the other side of the room. His forehead was creased, and he looked anything but peaceful.

"Sire?" The physician asked quietly, touching his good shoulder to wake him. With a start, the prince woke, jerking in the seat.

"G-Gaius. Sorry. Merlin?" His voice was thick with sleep, but he cleared his throat.

"Sleeping, Sire. May I treat your wound now, my lord?" He asked raising an eyebrow that told Arthur this was _not _a question and if he didn't say yes he would be in serious trouble.

"Of course Gaius," he mumbled, sitting up and offering his arm. He watched with a morbid fascination as the physician cleaned the wound, stitched it as best he could and the bound it neatly. The pain was blazing viciously beneath the skin, and he found that it made the wound itch horribly.

"Something for the pain, Sire?" Gaius offered him a bottle of a green, viscous liquid. Eying it with slight trepidation, the prince decided that he was sick of having to fight the agony and downed it in one. He grimaced at the taste and texture, causing Gaius to chuckle quietly.

"Is this a sleeping draught?" Arthur asked suddenly, as he felt the first signs of oblivion claiming his mind. Without answering, the old man helped support the prince into Merlin's side room, and dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. "Thank you Gaius," he mumbled as he began to drift.

"No Sire. Thank you for bring Merlin home." It was the last thing Arthur heard before he slipped away.

**..**

_There you have it. Sorry again for such a wait. I didn't mean to I promise. I'm fairly sure this will be done in the next two chapters, but don't worry, I have a plan._

_Once I've got this story finished, I'm going back and completely rewriting the beginning of it. Just all the section before their capture, so if you have some weird attachment to those chapters you might want to save them somewhere. The idea from them no longer really fits with the story, as you might have gathered by the gaping plot holes, so I'm just going back to square one. I am however going to be using a very similar skeleton for a new Merlin story (details of which will remain secret hehe)._


	13. Chapter 13

_So... Guys... It's been over two months. I do have excuses, but you probably aren't interested in them. I don't know if there are any really patient people out there that are still bothering to read this. I hope so. If you are, I thank you. So with humble apologies, I offer you this:_

**..**

When Merlin first woke he spent a full five minutes trying to work out where he was and what had happened. He knew instinctively somewhere in his mind that moving would be a mistake, so he lay still, trying to figure it all out.

He was on his front. His muscles felt stiff and heavy, as though he'd been still for a long time. It was warm. Through closed lids he could see daylight. The bed he was lying on was soft and comfortable, but not his. He could hear the vague, indistinct noises of civilisation in the background. Camelot? That was the most logical conclusion he could draw, but something in his mind was telling him that it wasn't possible.

'_I wasn't in Camelot? Where was I?' _All his memories danced out of his reach, scattering, leaving him more confused than before.

"Merlin?" This was much closer than the other noises. He knew that voice, of course he did; he had heard it almost every day for the last few years. His master. His friend. He wanted to reply so badly, ask what was going on, but the muscles to open his mouth eluded him. For a frightened second he wondered if he was paralysed. "Gaius? I think he's waking up." More noises close by, someone shuffling towards him.

"Merlin, my boy?" Another voice he knew: His guardian. If Gaius was there, then this must be Camelot, surely? But how did he get there? When? And from where? Floating, foggy images passed through him as he tried to recall the hours before he fell asleep. Valiantly, he tried to speak again. He got nowhere close to actual words, but a sound did make it out his mouth into the open air. The two men by his bedside sighed in relief.

"It's about time you woke up, _Mer_lin. You've been sleeping _forever," _the prince whined, and Merlin could hear the smile behind the words. He wished he could ask about everything, but talking was hard, and he didn't want to break this warm, comforting shell he found himself in. Whatever had happened, he was in Camelot, safe and warm, with his family around him. He drifted back into his sleepy haze, a smile tugging at his lips.

**..**

The prince had been visiting the physician's chambers every day, getting his shoulder tended to, as well as checking up on his servant. It had been three days since Merlin had stirred for the first time, and since then the servant had remained stubbornly unconscious.

"How is he Gaius?" Arthur strove to make his voice emotionless. He had already shown too much of his true feelings, and he needed to try and put some distance between himself and his servant. His father would not allow the obvious friendship to continue unchecked.

"He's recovering sire. It's slow going, and he hasn't woken, but his back is on the mend. The infection has cleared, and he should make a full recovery." The old man sounded much better than he had done over the past few days. Arthur had been getting worried about the stress taking its toll on the aged physician. "His other injuries were relatively superficial. There were a few broken fingers, but they've mostly healed up already. The broken ribs were worse. They've bruised his lungs and they'd begun to set incorrectly, so I had to re-break them." The prince felt mildly sick. "The arrow wound in his leg was a little troubling, but it should recover with time."

"But he's _is _getting better? Why hasn't he woken up?" The concern was leaking into his voice again. He bit his tongue.

"His body is desperately trying to heal itself, and so he's conserving energy. Your shoulder would heal better if you took a few days off sire," Gaius pressed again. He'd been trying to get the prince to rest as soon as he had woken from his drug induced slumber on the first night back, with little success.

"There's too much to do Gaius. A kingdom to be looked after."

"Camelot has lasted for longer than either of us sire. She can stand for a few more days without too much trouble." The rebuke was half hearted; the physician knew that Arthur was never going to take the bait.

"Either way, it's probably best not to leave everyone to their own devices. I swear this kingdom has the worst luck in all the five kingdoms." Gaius chuckled, and watched as the young prince strode out of his chambers. He was over working himself, as always, and he now had the added stress of Merlin's condition.

The old physician knew roughly what had happened during the pair's captivity, but the details had never been explained. He wasn't about to push Arthur into spilling everything. He was aware that Merlin had been used against the prince in some way, though he was unsure how, and that Arthur blamed himself for the condition of his servant. Which was of course, ridiculous. Gaius knew that the two would defend each other until the bitter end, and so he was certain that Arthur would have done whatever he could to get Merlin out of there.

"Oh, my boy," he murmured, crossing to Merlin's side and gently pushing back his dark hair with a fondness often seen in parents. "I'm so sorry all this has happened." And he was. Truly. There was a small voice in his mind, saying that Merlin had only come to Camelot to live with him, and had he not been around, the innocent young boy would never have met Arthur and been in this mess. He sighed deeply to himself, looking around his cluttered chambers sadly.

The warlock stirred faintly in his slumber, a small groan whispering into the room. He didn't awaken, but the old physician took it as confirmation that Merlin wasn't going anywhere for a while. Reassured, the aged man returned to his work.

**..**

Arthur pulled back the spear and let it fly. It landed in the centre of the target with a satisfying _thunk. _He had very quickly discovered that training was an excellent way to vent all his pent up frustrations, despite the fact that it made his shoulder blaze with agony as he pulled at his stitches. Gaius would be annoyed with him again. It seemed a regular state within the physician nowadays. Not that Arthur didn't deserve far worse. He had completely failed in every duty he had to the man who had practically raised him, and broken every promise he had made about keeping Merlin safe. By all rights, Gaius should be _furious. _But he wasn't.

The prince didn't understand, and it grated at him. If he was the old man, he would have demanded compensation, for Merlin's sake at least. Instead Gaius was constantly reassuring him that Merlin would be fine, and thanking him for keeping him alive. Arthur didn't have the heart to point out that it was his fault for the boy being so close to death in the first place.

Picking up another spear, he launched it at the stationary target several metres away. It was an easy shot for someone as well trained as he was, but then again, he wasn't looking for actual _practice. _No, he was looking for a way to release everything that was tearing him in two. And an easy shot was the perfect solution. Even Merlin would love it; no servant was having to labour under the weight of the slab of wood. And he still couldn't calm down.

Merlin seriously needed to wake up and get better, because this constant lack of improvement (whatever Gaius said, the boy still looked half dead) was driving him insane.

'_Since when did I start caring this much?' _He knew that it was a weakness. Anything he cared for could be used against him at any time; his captivity had proved this much. _'Merlin's not safe being so close to me. And Guinevere?' _He was chasing himself in circles.

"Sire?" That was Leon. He had been there at the start of all of this he recalled. This whole fiasco had started with Leon saying that one word, to inform him of the attacked patrol. All of a sudden, he wished that the knight had sent someone else to fetch him. Regardless, he looked up to see the older man walking towards him, much more relaxed than he had been that day. "I was wondering whether you are well enough to join the patrol riding out this evening. It's routine, nothing too strenuous," he reassured quickly.

Arthur was torn. He wanted nothing more than to escape for a short while, to be more of the prince he used to be. At the same time, he was loath to leave Merlin here alone for that amount of time. For a moment he deliberated, then decided that Merlin had Gaius, and if anything did happen he would be well looked after. And plus, the prince _really _wanted to go.

"That would be good, thank you," he replied, smiling at his second in command. The knight nodded respectfully and then retreated to do... whatever it is that knights do.

Still musing over his decision, Arthur went to retrieve his spears.

**..**

_I know it ended a little abruptly. Sorry._

_There is currently a poll on my profile about my next story. If you're interested, I'd love if you'd vote._

_Also, just a note: I'm going to be re-writing the beginning of this story at some stage. I may have already told you this. I've forgotten :S_

_I'm also working on a quick one-shot at the moment. It's another depressing one, sorry. That's all I seem able to crank out for now. I'll try and come up with something happy. _

_I sincerely hope that there isn't as long a wait now for the next chapter. There shouldn't be. But then again, I'm unpredictable. I did at least give you 'Beautiful Pain.' Thanks for all the lovely reviews you guys sent me for that! It doesn't always let me respond to reviews so if I didn't, I greatly apologise! I always read them. Promise._

_I put this on Faded Memories, but to __**VHunter07 **__if you're still around, please message me! This chapter is unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine._


	14. Chapter 14

Merlin didn't know how long it had been since he had last woken. In fact, he wasn't really sure of anything at all given how foggy his mind was. Occasionally there would be voices, hands touching him, the stirrings of movement around him. But none of these things really reached him in his sleepy haze.

Despite his confusion, the warlock was content. He was warm and the pain that had gripped him for so long was finally, blissfully gone. He was floating in a vast, dark space; no one needed his help, and nothing required his attention. He could drift along in the depths of his own mind, entirely undisturbed.

The memories of what had led him here were hazy and indistinct, and for a long time he didn't care to try and recall, but eventually he came to the conclusion that this strange half life couldn't last. He would have to fall, one way or the other, from the knife edge he was balancing on, and he was determined to make sure that if he had to die, he wouldn't go out quietly.

'_We cannot choose our ends, so do not try. Just know that when it comes, we can die the way we lived: Fighting.' * _He recalled the words that he hadn't even realised he'd learned by heart. They'd been written in a book back in Ealdor, that he'd read many years ago. At the time he hadn't really comprehended their meaning, but all of a sudden he understood: he would not – could not – give up all he had worked so hard for now, at the last hurdle.

And so he did what he'd always done: fight back. He struggled against the foggy darkness, trying to twist his way free. What had been a comfort suddenly seemed more like a prison and his efforts doubled as he began to get free.

In the safety of his own mind, there was no passing of time, and it could have been moments or years before he felt the deep, bone-aching pain radiating through his back again. He flinched violently at the agony, but did not stop trying to find his way back to himself. There was something important waiting for him: namely one injured prince.

Merlin couldn't really remember much of anything beyond watching Ragley's sword descend towards him but there was a vague shadowy recollection of hearing Arthur talking to him at his bedside. It said a lot about his state of mind that he couldn't work out whether that had been reality or just another dream.

There were voices, mutterings around him that were growing louder and stronger as the pain in his back became even fiercer. He tried to speak, beg for something to numb the fire, but his vocal chords wouldn't cooperate. A strange keening sound filled the air, and it took a second to understand that the noise was coming from his own mouth. He shut himself up as quickly as he could.

Without any warning a liquid was being poured down his throat awkwardly as arms held his dead weight so that he was balanced on his side. There was something wrapped around the length of his torso – _'bandages?' _– and the people helping him were being very careful not to touch the wounds. He was grateful; he didn't think he would have been able to deal with the pain. Whatever the vile tasting liquid he was being force fed was, it was numbing the fire spreading through him. He muttered something garbled that was meant to be appreciation and a warm hand patted his shoulder carefully.

"Can you hear me?" The voice was soft and gentle, and Merlin recognised it immediately with a great sense of relief: his beloved mentor.

"Gai..." It was as close as he could get to a proper word, still trying to locate the correct nerve pathways to move his mouth. It was inexplicably difficult.

"Shh my boy, it's all right. You're going to be alright." Even in his semi-conscious state Merlin could hear the emotions running through his voice. His heart went out to the aged physician, a swell of love blocking his throat. In the confused jumble of thoughts that were typical of dreamers the warlock was aware that whatever was going on was going to be having a profound effect on his father figure, and with that thought guilt flooded his system.

"I suppose it isn't much, but at least you're _slightly _more coherent this time," another voice mocked gently, distracting him and the warlock smiled at the knowledge that Arthur was there. If the prince ever found out, he'd have called Merlin a girl, but the dark haired boy couldn't help but feel safer knowing that the man who had looked after him for the duration of their captivity was nearby.

"Arth.. ur," he tried to speak again, but he felt like he was underwater, his body slow and sluggish.

"_Mer_lin. For once, listen to Gaius. Shh." He was using his I-am-prince-and-therefore-outrank-you voice, but it was different. Softer. He sounded almost..._ worried? _"You've been asleep for over a week Merlin!" So, maybe not worry. More like exasperation, and the warlock quaked slightly at the tone. Past experience had shown him that when Arthur was using that voice he was more than likely about to be landed with a shed load of chores. Or the stocks. A small corner of his mind wondered if the prince would hold off his punishment long enough for his back to heal up. He certainly hoped so.

"Week?" He forced out. A week was an awfully long time. The stiffness of his joints told him that it had been a while, but surely it couldn't have been that long.

"Yes _Mer_lin, an entire week. But don't you worry, I've saved up lots and lots of chores for you to catch up on." He had switched to his usual 'prat' voice, but the foreign tenderness was still evident. The warlock wanted to ask about that, but it would require far too many words for his liking, so he just decided to inquire about it later.

"I was hoping you would try and encourage him to wake Sire," came Gaius' reproachful tone, further away now. "I don't think _chores _are the way to do so." Merlin laughed. The sound was strangled and breathless, but he found the situation so amusing he couldn't quite contain himself. The agony rippled down his spine, flickering on the edges of his mind, but the Gaius' concoction kept it at bay.

"Oh? Something funny there Merlin?" The softness was well hidden now behind the echo of their usual banter. The prince was clearly happy to find a way back into his regular position and leapt on the chance to rib his servant.

"No sire," he replied, his voice still embarrassingly weak. Still, he was awake and coherent so he could hardly complain. "Nothing." Gaius was chuckling in the background, but didn't intrude. He had long since been made aware of the pair's dysfunctional relationship, and he knew that if anyone was going to help pull Merlin back, Arthur would be the one to do it.

"Of course there isn't. So the laughing wouldn't have anything to do with the heaps of chores waiting for you as soon as you get up off your lazy backside?" The warlock rolled his eyes, though the prince couldn't tell as Merlin had yet to open his eyes.

"Prat," was his only response, not awake enough to come up with anything more witty.** To his surprise the prince didn't comment or reply. He just chuckled softly, and even without looking, Merlin had the distinct impression that he was only laughing to keep from crying.

**..**

It was several more days before Merlin mustered the energy to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, and more still before he was able to sit up. The wounds on his back were healing nicely, the infection gone, but they still smarted quite substantially and made leaning on anything painful and awkward.

By the time Merlin was able to stand another week and a half had passed, and even then he had to use a cane to support his wounded leg. Gaius was hesitant to let him walk around, but found that after all that had happened he was unable to deny his boy anything. In any case, the warlock couldn't go too far before his legs trembled so badly he had to sit down again anyway.

Merlin didn't really care about his recovery process. He was glad of the rest if he was honest and besides, there was something far greater distracting him. Since he had awoken two weeks ago he had seen neither hide nor hair of his prince. It seemed that for reasons known only to himself, Arthur had decided that the warlock was no longer worth his time.

Gwen still came to see Merlin, every day if she could and she was able to fill the room with her smile. Her visits were the one part of the day that the warlock looked forwards too. He spent the time catching up on what he had missed during the time he had been gone, as well as studying from his magic book with his door securely locked. Not that it mattered; it wasn't as if the prince was going to appear to arrest him for it.

The more time that passed, the more bitter the warlock became. He had thought that after all they had been through Arthur would want to at least check up on him. But maybe he was overstepping his boundaries; the tenderness that he had heard in the prince's voice when he awoke could easily have been imagined. And maybe he had imagined the closeness they had shared while still in Ragley's clutches.

All Merlin could do was talk himself in circles until he was so lost in his own thoughts he struggled to remember where he was. He needed to get out, get back to work, _do _something, anything. He knew that the longer he stared at the walls of his room, the more they would feel like prison bars. Over the last month Merlin had learned many things, but most of all he had learnt to value his freedom and this new isolation was something he didn't want to have to cope with.

"Merlin, we've talked about this." Gaius was making his exasperation clear in his tone.

"Please Gaius! Just let me walk around the courtyard or even to the end of the corridor!" He might be begging, but at this stage he didn't care.

"You know that you don't have the strength!" Merlin knew that he was just worried, but the warlock was stressed and his temper was suddenly in flames.

"Then I'll find it!" He yelled back, rising to his feet with a jerk. "All I know is that if I stare at the walls any more I'll go crazy! I have spent all this time cooped up in here or in my room or in some god forsaken tent!" It was a low blow and he knew it but he couldn't quite get himself back under control.

He'd made a mistake though in rising too quickly and blackness filled his vision as his blood rushed to his head. He swayed unsteadily, desperately trying to remain upright and not show his discomfort. As if Gaius needed more ammunition.

"Merlin, please, sit down." The physician's voice was tender and calm and it made the warlock feel weak for resorting to anger so easily. For half a second he was distracted by the unexpected self loathing before he came back to his senses and dropped unceremoniously into his chair.

"I'm sorry Gaius. I didn't mean it." He looked down at the table between them in shame.

"Yes you did." The warlock's head snapped up with wide eyes. "But I understand my boy, I really do. Look, tomorrow morning why don't we find Gwen and the two of you can take a little walk to the courtyard for some fresh air?" Merlin flashed him a wide grin, feeling lighter than he had in days.

"Thanks Gaius!" The old man just shook his head with a fond smile.

**..**

"How have you been Merlin? Glad to get out, I'll bet." Gwen was smiling up at her friend as he hobbled along, still uncoordinated with his cane. Gaius had promised him he could be rid of the thing within a few weeks, but any fool could see that he already hated it.

"You have _no _idea. I never thought I'd be so glad to get out of bed," he told her with the smile she loved. It lit up his face and his eyes shone. She laughed good naturedly.

The sun was streaming through the windows of the corridor and the air was pleasantly warm, with a nice breeze blowing in from the open door in front of them. The walk to the courtyard that would normally take two or three minutes had taken them almost ten, but neither felt the need to comment on that fact, just happy to be in each other's company.

Merlin had found that he really missed Gwen. Over the last few months he'd had almost no time to see her, and he hadn't realised just how big a hole it left in his life. She had been his first friend upon arrival in Camelot, and her kindness then had won her a place in his heart forever. She was so _good. _He thought that being Gwen's friend was something like having a sister.

"Ah, fresh air," he sighed contentedly when they reached the open space. He closed his eyes momentarily, relishing in the feeling of the wind through his hair. He'd missed this. Ever since growing up in the woods and caves around his home in Ealdor with Will he'd found that being outside felt like a small piece of home; The sun and sky and clouds he looked on here were no different from the ones in Ealdor. Gwen made no comment other than a low chuckle.

"Merlin?" The startled yell jolted him out of his reverie violently. His eyes darted open and he found his prince stood right in front of him, glaring venomously. For a second he just stared, entirely stunned by Arthur's sudden reappearance and then utterly confused by the rage all across the prince's face.

"Ar-Arthur?" He stammered, glancing at Gwen in the irrational hope she could make this situation go away. No such luck. She glanced between the two warily before taking a measured step backwards and saying nothing. Looks like he was on his own against Arthur's ire.

"What are you doing?" The prince shrieked at him, waving one arm around violently. The warlock flinched away, copying Gwen's motion of stepping backwards.

"Err... I was... walking?" He wasn't really sure what the right answer to the question was, but it was clear Arthur was expecting a response.

"And might you have forgotten that you are currently meant to be _resting?_" He was still furious and Merlin could feel his own rage from yesterday bubbling through.

"Actually, I'm fairly sure that's exactly what I've been doing for the past _month! _Not that you'd care." He hadn't meant that last sentence to slip out, and he bit his lip. Arthur recoiled slightly like he'd been slapped and for a second just stared at his servant as though seeing him for the first time. It took a moment before he rallied himself enough to even try and respond.

"Did Gaius give you permission?" His voice was hard and unfeeling.

"Yes, he did." Merlin echoed his master's tone, forcing his face to remain blank.

The prince sniffed with as much dignity he could muster before spinning on his heel and marching in the other direction. Gwen reached for Merlin's shoulder, rubbing it comfortably.

"I'm sure he's just stressed," she tried to comfort him. It didn't work.

"I'm tired Gwen. I think I'll head back to Gaius' chambers." Without further comment he turned and walked away as fast as he was able. Gwen could easily have caught up to him but she made no attempt to, just watched him go sadly.

Silently she swore to herself that she _would _get to the bottom of this.

**..**

_*For the record, the quote is actually something I wrote in a first draft manuscript for the book I'm working on. In the end, it won't make the cut, but I was quite proud of it, so I shoved it in here. At least then it won't just rot away inside my head. _

_**This is more describing me right now than our dear Merlin._

_I also noticed that half way through this I started calling Arthur 'king' instead of 'prince.' I think I changed them all, but please tell me if I missed any :)_

_So this is not end! The next chapter definitely will be though. I think. I don't know :S As some of you noticed I posted a teaser for a new story the other day! Thanks for all the reviews I got from it, they meant a lot. For reasons unknown it isn't letting me respond to them, but I did read them all and appreciate, I promise. _

_Other than that, I can't guarantee when the final chapter will be out. It depends on how badly my exams go. Anyways, thanks for reading :D _


	15. Chapter 15

Merlin stared at the cracked paint on his wall, eyes tracing the jagged lines that crossed the pale cream like knife wounds. He had found that he liked looking at the cracks; they seemed to him to be evidence that even a castle as mighty as this one had its faults, no matter how small.

And right now the warlock needed to see the faults in something else having spent so many hours examining his own. He needed to know that he wasn't the only one that was flawed, that was damaged.

There was a piece of paper that had joined his magic book under the floorboards with a list of names written on it. The first was Mary Collins, but the list continued on far longer than he would have liked. Names of those who had died, who he had killed, who he had failed; anyone who had suffered in his endless defence of his Prince. The same Prince that was still avoiding him like he wasn't worth the dirt on his boots.

The warlock sighed, leaning back against the wall behind him, ever mindful of his wounds. The pain was almost gone now, though in the mornings the muscles of his back would ache so much so that even standing up seemed impossible. He hadn't told Gaius about the stiffness; he knew enough of medicine himself to know that such aching was expected and there wasn't anything the physician could do about it. No need to worry an already stressed man.

Anyone could tell that Gaius was having a hard time and Merlin knew him better than most. Well enough to understand why he was so distressed. The old physician never could stand watching others suffer and watching his ward decay in his own misery was almost impossible to bear. Every morning they would eat together in silence and then Gaius would leave to make his rounds and Merlin would retreat into his room and stay there until Gwen dragged him to the table for dinner in the evening.

Gwen was the shining light through all of this for the warlock. She would come round every day after her chores were complete (Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that some of the other servants were helping her so she had the time to visit) and she would stay until Gaius declared that his ward needed his rest. As time passed though even Gwen's smile became strained when she found that she couldn't drag her friend from the depths of his depression.

When Merlin was lying awake in bed at night, staying silent so Gaius would think he was asleep, he would try and work out what he could possibly have done to make Arthur hate him so much. Because he did; there was no misunderstanding the expression on the Prince's face when he had encountered his servant in the courtyard, it had been hate, cold and cruel. And the warlock couldn't work out why.

He understood that they couldn't really be friends; their statuses were so different that such an idea was almost laughable, except, with Arthur, it hadn't been. They _had_ been friends of a sort, hadn't they? And then during their captivity they had worked together and watched out for each other. The Prince had tended to his wounds for crying out loud, that had to count for something. Maybe that was it? The Prince had seen how weak his servant really was – or how weak he pretended to be – and had realised that actually the dark haired boy was nothing more than someone who would hold him back. Arthur could have escaped on his own had he not had Merlin there as a liability.

So that might be it. The warlock hoped not because if it was, there was nothing he could do to fix it. He really didn't want his master hating him for the rest of his life, not after all that he had done for him. And the prat didn't even know it; he had no idea of the sacrifices that Merlin had made on his behalf, and unless he could fix this mess he never would.

'_But what can I do?' _He questioned himself, late one night. _'I'm nothing more than a serving boy. If that – do I even have a job to go back to after this?' _The fear and doubt rolled through his mind endlessly until he dropped into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Merlin had been back in Camelot for just over a month now and he was finally back to work. Gwen – with her endless wisdom and foresight – had organised everything and the warlock had been brought back into the loop seamlessly. He would forever be grateful to her.<p>

But now he was faced with the task of waking up Arthur, and he was shaking with indecision. The last time he had seen the Prince had been in the courtyard and the warlock was unwilling to relive that disastrous encounter. The dawn was creeping over the horizon though and he was running out of time.

'_Just do it quickly. Get it done.' _He told himself, steeling his courage and squaring his shoulders. He grabbed the curtains and yanked them open with a jolt. The Prince groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes and grumbling incoherently. Merlin said nothing; in his nervousness he found himself falling into the role of demure servant. The breakfast tray was on the table, all arranged neatly and the warlock busied himself with finding the Prince's clothes for the day. He had to give credit to his temporary replacement: everything was exactly where it should be (except for the mess the Prince had made the night before) and the room was spotless.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was groggy with sleep and the warlock was a little relieved that he could only hear confusion, and not anger, colouring his master's tone. He turned around to face him. The Prince was still in his bed, propping himself up on his elbows and staring at Merlin like he was a ghost. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm your servant. It's my job," Merlin told him slowly. He did his level best to make sure that there was nothing other than mild confusion in his voice, fighting to keep the hurt and heartbreak behind his walls.

"But you're injured."

"No, I was injured a month ago. Good as new now," he replied with a fake smile. It wasn't true but why would the Prince care about his servant's aches and pains? He was fit to do his job and that was all that mattered.

"Would Gaius agree with that sentiment?"

"Yes, he would," Merlin snapped, then immediately checked himself, fighting down the frustration. He just wanted to go about his chores in peace, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"You're well enough to resume your normal duties?"

"Yes Sire," he ground out, biting his tongue from lashing out. Arthur just sent him an undecipherable look then stood up to eat without further comment. A little out of place, Merlin started tidying the havoc Arthur had caused. The Prince was in general a messy person, but he must have been in a bad mood because his clothes from the previous evening were strewn even further across the room than normal. Before all that had happened Merlin would have commented, but he didn't dare now.

"I should not have been angry with you in the courtyard," Arthur said abruptly, his voice hard and unfeeling. "You have my apologies." His tone made it clear that the Prince was in no way repentant and was merely completing the required exchange. He didn't even glance at his servant, staring straight ahead, his face unreadable.

"There is nothing to apologise for My Lord," Merlin returned in the same unfeeling tone. He wasn't going to forgive Arthur if he wasn't sorry, even if it looked like the Prince didn't care if he was forgiven or not. Then again, why should he worry about it? The warlock was of no importance to him, that much had been made clear.

"I have a meeting with my father," Arthur told him, finishing his food and ducking behind the screen to dress. "I want you to go and prepare my armour and sword for training."

"Of course Sire," the warlock replied, gathering up the clothes that Arthur had just removed and adding them to the pile of laundry. The Prince left the room without further conversation.

* * *

><p>"How was your first day back?" Gaius asked him, faking a cheery tone. It was obvious from his ward's face that they day had not gone well, and the old man was shrewd enough to guess why. Everyone in the castle had observed the Prince's steely demeanor and Gaius knew that even Merlin had not been spared from the cold tones and glares of Arthur.<p>

"It felt like work," he replied after a moment of silence. It was a communication that had grown between the two over the last few years. Despite common opinion, Merlin actually enjoyed his job, and liked spending time with Arthur. But there would be days, days of destiny and heartbreak that would feel so much harder than normal: a day that felt like work.

"It will get better with time. You and Arthur both just need time to adjust. You've been through a lot." He tried to keep his voice soothing.

"Arthur doesn't need to adjust, he just needs to stop hating me!" Merlin snapped, feeling tears of frustration welling in his eyes. He was tired and stressed out and with a start the warlock realised that his emotions were floating just below the surface.

"Oh my boy," Gaius murmured, automatically pulling Merlin into a hug. He sounded heartbroken on his 'son's' behalf. "He doesn't hate you. Arthur would never hate you." The warlock felt tears flooding his eyes and leaking onto Gaius' robe.

"I can't do this Gaius," he whispered quietly, as though admitting his darkest secret. The warm arms around him tightened.

"I know my boy. I know."

* * *

><p>Outside the door a stunned Arthur leaned against the wall, trying to find the courage that he had gathered before coming down to the physician's chambers.<p>

He had been coming down here to tell Merlin that if he wanted to leave his service then the Prince wouldn't fault him for it, and he would make sure that the warlock wanted for nothing. He felt so terrible about all that had happened; it had all been his fault. Ragley had been after the Prince, not his servant and Merlin was only hurt because of his connection to Arthur.

The Prince had been certain that Merlin hated him for it, but all of a sudden that idea had been blown out the water. How could his servant think that he hated him?

'_You really are a prat,' _he told himself. Thinking back he had been the one to avoid the warlock, not the other way around, and of course the sensitive fool had thought the anger in the courtyard was anything more than concern.

He had to make this right. No one as good natured as Merlin should suffer because of him, especially after what had happened. They had gotten each other through that hell only to abandon each other when they were finally free, and Arthur wouldn't stand for it.

'_I'm so sorry Merlin. So sorry.'_

* * *

><p>The warlock awoke with a start, sweat beading on his forehead and a cry spilling from his lips before he could stop it. He flinched away from the ghost whip that wasn't even there, trembling as he waited for the imaginary blow. It took a moment, but eventually awareness bled through the panic and he realised where he was and that he was safe. He could feel his magic coiling and writhing within him, desperate for an outlet that could somehow help him; if only it could ever be that simple.<p>

Sliding to his feet, wincing against the aches that ran up his back and down his leg, he crossed the room and grabbed his threadbare jacket. He had to be careful as he crept through Gaius' room, trying his best not to wake his mentor, then almost crowing with relief when he succeeded.

The courtyard was cool and his breath misted in the still night air but Merlin breathed it in like a man drowning. The peace helped to calm his racing heart and sooth the frayed nerves. In the darkest night the darkness of the day seemed insignificant and nowhere near as insurmountable as before. Taking a seat on the cool stone steps, he leaned against the wall, putting his head back and sighing softly.

He was like that when Arthur found him.

The Prince took a seat beside him without saying a word, not even looking at his servant; he wasn't sure he could without the guilt clawing at his throat. Merlin didn't want to be the one to break the silence, not with the memory of his breakdown still so fresh. Gradually the silence became less tense and the warlock decided that he might as well get back to his own musings and proceeded to ignore Arthur entirely.

"I couldn't sleep either," the Prince admitted eventually. He still wouldn't look at the warlock, but Merlin's head snapped up to look at him.

"What makes you think that I couldn't sleep?"

"You're sitting on the steps in the courtyard in the middle of the night. Why? Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" Arthur smirked but it vanished almost instantly.

"I was asleep. But... I have dreams," Merlin admitted slowly, blushing. He wasn't sure why he was telling the Prince; it wasn't his problem and up until now Arthur hadn't exactly given the impression of caring.

"I would have been surprised if you didn't." For the first time since the conversation started Arthur turned to look at the warlock, piercing blue eyes grazing over his face, trying to see just what state the poor boy was in. It wasn't a nice sight.

"Gaius offered me a potion for it."

"Why didn't you take it? You look like you could use the sleep." The Prince realised belatedly that that statement could seem like a criticism. The warlock didn't seem offended.

"I didn't want to. If I'm too scared to face my own dreams then my job is going to become pretty impossible."

"You don't have to do your job you know."

"Are you firing me?"

"No. I'm telling you that I wouldn't blame you if you quit." Now it was Merlin's turn to inspect his master, trying to work out the thoughts behind the face.

"Do you _want _me to quit?" Arthur snorted at him.

"If I wanted you to quit Merlin, I'd just fire you," he told him, offering a smile. Merlin didn't return it, still confused.

"But why would you want me around? I'm a terrible servant."

"That's true," Arthur admitted and grinned at him. "But you're still my friend." He couldn't find the courage to look at the warlock when he said that and his eyes dropped to the floor.

"But..." Merlin started, then snapped his mouth shut. He didn't want to finish that sentence.

"But you thought that I hated you?" Arthur offered and the warlock blinked. There was no way that the Prince had worked that out himself.

"Have you been talking to Gwen?"

"A bit. But she didn't say that. Mostly she was just angry with me for avoiding you."

"On that point, care to explain why you were? Since you don't hate me and all." Arthur looked suddenly evasive but he wasn't going to refuse to answer.

"Because I felt guilty. Watching you limp around with a cane, covered in bandages? Knowing that it was all my fault damn near killed me. Every time I saw you I realised just how little I had done to protect you and I just thought that if I couldn't look after my own servant, my own _friend, _then what kind of King am I going to become? So I was a coward and I hid." The Prince fidgeted when he was done, nervous energy rolling off him in waves. Merlin just blinked wordlessly for a moment.

"But it wasn't your fault. I convinced us to run in the first place and then I was holding you back. You could have gotten out of there without me but your honour stopped you from leaving me," he argued eventually.

"It wasn't honour Merlin. I told you; it was friendship. You showed me a lot whilst we were there, and I wasn't going to repay that by abandoning you to be killed. And you can't take any of the blame for this. Ragley-" he spat the name like it was poison "-was after me. Not you. He would never have taken you if you weren't my servant." The warlock thought for a moment then said:

"Call it even?" The Prince laughed at nodded at him.

"Even. But then I still need you to forgive me for being such a selfish prat."

"But you're _always _a selfish prat. This is nothing new." To anyone else it would sound like a comment worthy of treason but Arthur heard the joking behind it and understood the forgiveness there.

"You really aren't angry with me?"

"I was." Merlin shrugged, unconcerned. "But I do understand it now. It makes sense."

"Even so, I shouldn't have done it."

"No, you shouldn't. But it's done and you're here now. I'm choosing to focus on that." He grinned his lopsided smile.

"You really are a _good _person, aren't you?" The Prince didn't look entirely surprised by that assessment. The warlock just smiled mysteriously at him and he laughed. There was a guard standing at the gate to the courtyard who was eying them warily and for reasons he didn't quite understand, Arthur found it amusing. He waved to the bewildered soldier who looked away quickly, shaking his head; he probably thought he was imagining things.

It wasn't ok. It wouldn't be for a while. Both of them still had a lot of healing to do, even though their bodies were almost back to normal. It would be many months before either of them slept soundly again, but now, it wasn't as bad.

When they had dreams they went to one another for comfort, no matter what hour it was. Neither of them turned the other out if they needed to talk. The first time they went on a patrol again together they rode right next to each other and always stayed within sight. If the knights noticed they didn't comment.

But the relationship between the warlock and his Prince was strong, and they could get through anything. They weathered their storms together: Courage and Magic.

* * *

><p><em>This seemed like an enigmatic place to finish this. As previously said, the beginning part of the story is about to go under the axe because it's rubbish. But the main story line won't be altered.<em>

_**This story is finished.**__ I thought I'd make that clear, because I can be vague about these things. I'm starting another Merlin story called 'Sickness Falls' which has a teaser up already, with more to follow shortly. _

_This is chapter is unbeta-ed because I'm a little worried that something has actually happened to **VHunter07** :/_

_I know that it took forever, and thank you to anyone still sticking around. You all must be really annoyed with me. But this story has finally come to an end. I hope you have enjoyed it :)_

_Hope to see you on my other stories :D_


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